The Falcon's Rose
by Nona Decima Morta
Summary: What if Catherine of Aragon gave up battling for Mary's rights to the Throne? What if Mary remained a princess and was the King's beloved pearl when he married Anne Boleyn? What if Mary had the chance to have a happy marriage with children? What if Mary can continue her life as a princess of England with all its wealth and power on one condition; to marry George Boleyn?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

**June, 1530**

Her mother had failed her.

The sainted Queen Catherine of Aragon had given up in her fight against King Henry VIII in his pursuit to marry the harlot, Anne Boleyn.

Princess Mary could not believe her ears once the Spanish ambassador, Eustace Chapuys sadly informed her of the news.

"No," said Mary stubbornly. "My mother would never have given up! She...she hates the harlot! She will never give up my rights willingly! She was bullied! She fought for my legitimacy all this way! Why would she stop now? It doesn't make sense!"

"The King asks me to give you this," said Chapuys, handing her a rolled up parchment.

Mary's hand shook as she took the roll of parchment.

She glanced at it and Chapuys nodded encouragingly.

Mary unrolled it, feeling as if her life was being peeled away like the layers of an onion. She paled as her blue eyes skimmed through it rapidly.

"My mother has truly given up," she said, closing her eyes in defeat. "She accepted an annulment only on the grounds of consanguinity and renounce her title of 'Queen of England' and will be willing to acknowledge Anne Boleyn as the King's wife after their marriage, and will write to her nephew, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, to cease in his efforts to support her. As a gesture of friendship and appreciation, my father, the King, has generously agreed to endow upon her the title and style of 'Her Royal Highness, Princess Catherine, Duchess of Lancaster' with the annuity of three hundred thousand pounds and three palaces of her own choosing. She will always have a place in Court, and will have precedence over every woman in Court with the exception of the Queen, me, and any daughter the Queen will have. He also said that part of the divorce agreement, I will be permitted to see my mother whenever I wish, and upon my mother's death, I will become the Duchess of Lancaster in my own right and will inherit her palaces and fortune. On one condition?"

"What is it, Princess? Your acknowledgement of Anne Boleyn as Queen?"

"No, Excellency. Not yet..." Her lips tightened.

"Princess Mary, what is it?"

"The King states that I will remain a princess of England and the heiress presumptive until the birth of his prince, and I will be allowed to see my mother and inherit her possessions only if I marry...if I marry Anne Boleyn's brother, George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford." She spat the last words out ferociously as if they were deadly poison.

Chapuys stared at her, astonished.

"That is the whore's doing!" he said angrily, his usual calm, expressionless face broken into rage. "She knew if she fails to have a son, her nephew, a Boleyn, will become King of England! You should be married to a royal prince, duke of king! Not a mere viscount!"

"George Boleyn wouldn't be a viscount," said Mary quietly, her eyes running across the parchment again. "If I accept marriage, the King will make him the 1st Marquess of Ormond and grant me a new title for my...obedience towards him."

"Princess, you cannot marry the whore's brother. What will your mother say?!"

"She would have known about this. She chose comfort to hardship."

"Your lady mother chose the best for you."

"I will never be queen. The King will have his precious son, and I will be cast into the shadows and in the eclipse of the Boleyns. The King will be so proud of his children with the harlot, and he will forget all about me and I will be killed by the harlot's father." A tear rolled down her cheek.

"The whore's mother only had one son. Perhaps if luck will hold, the King will have only daughters with his whore, and who will the people approve more of? A princess with royal blood on both sides, or a princess who is descended from merchants?"

Mary smiled wanly and laughed weakly.

"The King will never marry me off to a prince," she said, her voice betraying no fear or worry, but instead revealing a tone of queenly diplomacy and truth. "He is afraid a royal husband will invade England on my behalf upon his death. Married to his whore's brother will cement me in England. My mother loves England and does not want to see the kingdom in ashes."

Chapuys nodded, impressed with her words.

"My mother gave in because she wanted England prosperous and with no bloodshed," said Mary, regretting her earlier words of accusation towards her mother. "I will respect her wishes and ensure it was not in vain. I will marry George Boleyn and have his children. If I have to curtsey to Anne Boleyn and address her as queen, I shall do so, but deep in heart, I will always see my mother as the true Queen of England. I will always see her children as bastards. Always."

"I will always be by your side," promised Chapuys. "I vowed to serve Queen Catherine, and now I will transfer my services to you."

The doors opened and a smug-faced Thomas Boleyn, 1st Earl of Wiltshire strutted in, accompanied by two grim-faced guards.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, bowing mockingly. "Your Excellency."

"Lord Wiltshire," said Mary stiffly.

"The King has sent me here to deliver him your answer to the letter he had given His Excellency to pass on to you earlier."

"Give me another five minutes."

"Very well, Your Highness. If I may speak, be quick about it. The King is not a patient man, and he is expecting an answer, Princess." He could not wait to hear the Spaniard's daughter's stubborn, harsh remark about it. He wanted to threaten her so badly...

Wiltshire bowed and retreated.

Immediately, Mary turned to Chapuys.

"Tell the King I accept his terms," she whispered, in case Wiltshire was eavesdropping at the door. "I will marry George Boleyn and I accept the harl-Anne Boleyn as his future consort. Go! Tell him. I do not want Wiltshire to have the satisfaction of hearing me say it."

Chapuys nodded and left through another door.

Approximately five minutes later, Wiltshire returned, haughtier than ever.

"Your answer, Your Highness?" he said at once.

"I have already given it, Lord Wiltshire," said Mary sweetly. "His Excellency is already on his way to inform the King of my answer. You are too late, Lord Wiltshire."

She was delighted to see the smirk vanish from his face.

He shot her a furious look and stormed off, seething in anger at his stupidity for missing the one opportunity to see the King's proud daughter in tears and humiliation.

She will pay for this! Wiltshire vowed, as he headed towards the throne room. She may be the King's daughter, but it won't be long before I put that bitch in place. Grovelling and scrubbing the grounds at my Anne's feet as nothing more than a bastard.

* * *

King Henry VIII sat languidly on his throne, dreaming of his Anne at his side and the two of them surrounded by a large brood of red headed sons, all as strapping and healthy as he was in his youth. Of course there would be daughters, beautiful girls with hair as black as a raven's like their mother's, the enchanting Anne Boleyn.

The perfect family.

His perfect family.

"Your Majesty."

He blinked and saw Chapuys bowing in front of him. He was not a bit surprised that the Spanish ambassador would seek audience with him. Probably to hopelessly convince him to take back Catherine on the orders of the interfering Charles V.

"Excellency," said Henry VIII, prepared to zone out once he begins his almost weekly lecture. "What does the Holy Roman Emperor send you to say to me this time?"

"I bring a message from your daughter, the Princess Mary," Chapuys answered, watching the King's eyes widen in astonishment. "She wishes me to convey to you that she accepts the terms. She has said she is willing to marry George Boleyn if she keeps the title 'princess of England' and remains your heiress presumptive until the birth of a prince of Wales. She will retain her position in the line of succession, ahead of your future daughters."

"Of course. That is part of the deal. Is my daughter truly willing?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Upon my word of honour, the Princess Mary has agreed to marry Viscount Rochford as the obedient daughter she is."

"Obedient daughter, eh? If my daughter is willing and obedient, I wish for her to sign this." He handed him another scroll of parchment.

Chapuys glanced at it suspiciously.

"Do not fear," said the King pompously. "It is nothing about Mary's illegitimacy. Before she marries Viscount Rochford, she must sign this paper, stating that she renounces the Pope as nothing more than a Roman bishop, and she acknowledges me as the Head of the Church of England. Once you return this to me, only then will I see her as my true daughter of my blood and marry her to Lord Rochford. If she refuses to sign it, I will send Wiltshire to take her to the Tower."

Chapuys's blood ran cold as his grip on the blasphemous parchment tightened.

"The Princess Mary must sign this?" he found himself stammer.

"Yes, Your Excellency," said the King, smirking as he saw Chapuys's composed expression falter. "That is all. She must agree that the Pope is nothing more than a Roman bishop. I can assure you that George Boleyn will ensure my daughter to be a devote Protestant in no time. You will not need to fear about a loss in religion for my daughter, Excellency."

Chapuys bowed silently and trudged out, more depressed than ever. In a flash, he found himself pinned against the wall and face to face with Wiltshire.

"I will not forget this!" hissed Wiltshire, before he could even speak. "I will send you back to that impoverished village you were born in, Chapuys! You may be a supporter of that Spanish cow and her daughter, but I will not allow you to keep strutting around like the peacock you are! How dare you deliver the message to the King?!"

"I hope you see the irony in that, Lord Wiltshire," said Chapuys dryly. "Threaten the Princess as much as you like, but it will not be forgotten."

He pushed Wiltshire away and walked off.

Wiltshire entered his chambers, more irritated than ever.

Waiting for him were his daughters, Lady Mary and Anne, his son George, and his brother-in-law, the powerful Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk.

"How was it?" inquired Norfolk. "Did she refuse or cry?"

"I do not know," muttered Wiltshire angrily. "That Spanish ambassador delivered the message before I could stop him. At least she will be soon married off to George, and we'll be able to keep a closer eye on her. I cannot wait till the day she is only Mary Boleyn, Viscountess Rochford."

"The King has a soft spot for his ah...his 'Pearl'," said Norfolk slyly, pouring himself a cup of fine French wine. "Even when George marries her, she will remain a princess of England and heiress presumptive to the throne. If that was not part of the deal, Catherine of Aragon would never have stopped fighting for her darling daughter's rights."

"What?!" spluttered Wiltshire, as red as a drunkard.

"You heard me. You should be pleased!"

"In what way will I be pleased?! I am robbed of the satisfaction of seeing that Spaniard's daughter kneel at my feet for my blessing!"

"Your daughter will marry the King of England, and your son and heir will marry the King's currently only daughter. If Anne happens to die in childbirth along with the child, and the King joins her shortly, the Spaniard's daughter will be queen, and your son will be her king. Either way, one of your children will be king or queen of England. There will always be a Boleyn-Howard on the throne."

"And what? The Princess will keep antagonising me?!"

"You seem to be the one antagonising her! Think about if, Wiltshire. If you continue being hostile towards your future daughter-in-law and she happens to become queen, what will happen?"

"I will be thrown in the Tower." He was bitter. Trust Norfolk to think of everything! "Anne will have a

son! She is perfectly healthy, beautiful, loved by the King...nothing will stop her having a son."

"I will!" said Anne fiercely, tossing her black hair to one side. "I will bear the King's son and he will be the next great king of England!"

Wiltshire nodded approvingly.

"That isn't enough!" said Norfolk sharply. "You may be fertile, but we need to take a page out of the Stanleys' book. We need a foot in each camp! You have clearly shown enmity to Princess Mary, so now we need a replacement! We need a Boleyn to be friends with her in case our plans go awry. Childbirth cannot be conquered by any woman no matter how hard she tries. If Princess Mary somehow becomes queen, we need to remain in her good books."

"I will," volunteered George, eager to meet the princess his father vehemently hated. "She is my betrothed, after all. She will despise Anne as she will replace Catherine of Aragon as queen, and our Mary was her father's mistress. I will be her husband, so wouldn't it make sense if I befriend her before we are married?" He looked around.

Norfolk nodded slowly in agreement.

"You?" said Anne uncertainly. "I need you here..."

"You have Mary," George replied with ease. "I will be with you once we jump safely over the Princess Mary milestone. Let us say the Princess falls for my charms. Perhaps then, she will be more...sympathetic in our cause to Anne as queen. Of course it will be hard, but I'm sure I can conquer it. You will thank me for this, dear sister. You too, uncle, father."

"Very well," said Norfolk dismissively. "Go and find her. Chapuys will be convincing her to sign that document by now. You better succeed, George."

George nodded and left, carrying the bag of Boleyn hopes on his shoulders.

He approached Mary's chambers and paused.

He only saw her from afar in Court feasts and never had the chance to speak to her. What kind of princess was she?

He knocked on the door hesitantly.

It flew open, almost knocking him to the ground.

"Lord Rochford," said Chapuys coldly, watching him stumble. "How surprising you are here! Did the King send you, or your clever uncle? Are you here to poison the Princess? It will do you no favours, you can trust me on that!"

"Excellency," said George, recovering from his initial shock. "I am here to see Princess Mary. I know I am one of the last people you want to see, but please. I suppose you rather see me more than my uncle or father? They will not take insults lightly."

"And you do?!" Chapuys fired at him.

"Chapuys, who is it?"

Reluctantly, he stepped aside and George faced the Princess herself.

_She is quite pretty_, he thought, as he bowed politely. _Not as beautiful as Anne, but still pretty. Especially her auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes. She isn't Anne, but any man will find her attractive and an enchanting girl of fourteen. Only a fool would call her ugly._

"Lord Rochford," said Mary icily, her eyes fixing a glare on him. "What do you want? I already received a visit from your father, and now from you. If you are a gentleman, give me a minute to contemplate signing away my soul to live in a Court full of Howards and Boleyns or die."

George noticed a tear splattered parchment on the table beside her.

"You are a Catholic," he said, stating the obvious. "This must be...horrible for you."

"Kind of you to say so," said Mary sarcastically, crossing her arms. "And what are you? Born a Catholic and now a Protestant under the influence of your sister?"

"Please, Princess. I am not here to argue. I know we are to marry, and I want to tell you something that may influence your decision over this."

"Oh, so I am to trust you know, am I?"

"No. You hate me, I can understand that. I understand your pain of being separated from your mother, and forced to make a terrible decision. I promise you that once we marry, you will not have to see my uncle or father. If you want to live away from them and refuse to acknowledge yourself as a Boleyn, so be it. I will do anything to make you happy. Even if you don't believe me now, trust me that I am a man of honour. This parchment you have to sign...God will forgive you. It is your life at stake. When we live as husband and wife, I will allow you to pray as a Catholic. Do me one favour; be cordial to Anne. She is my dearest sister. Can you keep a secret, Princess?"

Mary raised an eyebrow.

"I am still a Catholic," said George quietly. "My sister is a Reformist and her head is filled with new ideas in religion, but I only pretend to agree with her. I am a Catholic as much as I was when I was a babe. On my life and soul, I swear it is true."

Mary nodded, calmer than before.

"I can pretend..." she said softly.

"Yes," encouraged George, who had no qualms against the poor princess. "In public, you are the obedient follower of the Church of England, in private, you are the devout daughter of Christ. Excellency, do you agree?"

Speechless, Chapuys managed a nod.

"I still hate you," said Mary, shooting George a poisonous glare.

"Very well," he said simply, to her surprise. "If you wish, I will leave you to your own devices after our marriage. I only wanted to tell you that my uncle and father do not control me. I will not allow them to harm you in anyway, and it will be best for you to sign that blasphemous parchment before the King sends you to the Tower. Good day, Your Highness."

He bowed gallantly and departed, leaving Mary and Chapuys staring after him, both of them donning expressions of uncertainty, bewilderment and admiration.

"What will you do, Princess?" Chapuys said finally. "Believe him?"

"He sounds genuine..." said Mary uncertainly. "My mother has given up and it is now up to me. This is a fair deal, and if George is a Catholic like he said he is, I think our marriage will be mutually happy. It is his sister I hate, not him. He is right though...I must sign this to live. Can you tell my mother? I rather her hear it from you than a Boleyn or Howard."

Chapuys nodded.

"What if she remarries?" wondered Mary. "If she marries and has a son, will he inherit her fortune or will I do so?"

"You will," said Chapuys promptly. "If she has any children in her remarriage, they will be given titles and land at the King's generosity. You are her heiress apparent."

"If I marry George, he will have my inheritance once my mother dies."

"No. That will not happen. We will deal with inheritance later. For now, you must return to the King's good books. As a wedding request, ask for the King to sign a letters' patent, stating that your mother's inheritance will only descend through her blood descendants and if inherited by a female, it will not be inherited by her husband."

"Will the King allow that?"

"You are his daughter, and it will save your mother from an early poisoning at the hands of a servant bribed by a Boleyn. Wiltshire and Norfolk are both equally ambitious, and if the whore does have a son, the two of them will turn their attention to making their children equally rich. I can assure you that their first goal is for George to steal your mother's fortune. Remember Edward IV of England's two brothers? They married the Neville heiresses and robbed their mother of her fortune. Sign this and I will give it to the King immediately. If you take too long, you will find it in the hands of a Howard."

Mary nodded. With a gloomy sigh and feeling a depressing grey cloud settling over her, she picked up the quill and scrawled her name on the poisonous paper.

"My life is over," she said sullenly, rolling it up and thrusting it at Chapuys. "The harlot's family rule England. If I die by poisoning, tell my mother that a death via poisoning will point directly at the Boleyns rather than disappear like the Princes in the Tower."

Chapuys nodded, bowed and left.

Three steps Mary noticed ended numerous conversations she had that year.

Ensuring the doors closed securely behind her, she knelt in front of the large cross nailed to a wall in her room and began praying. She prayed for the good health and safety for her mother, the strength and guidance to live through the troubled times to come and one thing she hardly receives. The much sought after gift of love.

She prayed for hours, ignoring the murmurs of her ladies.

Mary wondered if she inherited the 'saints' knees' her great grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort had often boasted of possessing. It had been hours and she felt no knee pains.

_I must have made the right choice_, thought Mary, blinking in a hazy daze. _Or was this all a horrible nightmare and my parents are still married?_

"Princess Mary. The King summons you to his presence immediately."

Her heart pounding, she turned around and almost cried in relief as it was only her father's regular messenger, not a Howard or Boleyn.

"Your Highness?" said the messenger, confused.

"Nothing," said Mary, praying a quick thanks that the Boleyns had not began their regime yet. "I will go and see him at once. He is in the throne room, is he not?" With a puzzled nod from the messenger, she continued. "Are you to accompany me?"

"Of course, Your Highness," answered the messenger, stepping aside for her to pass. "The King has ordered for you to be under the utmost protection at all times."

* * *

**Personally, I don't think this is a good start, but you readers can be the judge of it :) I can assure you that Anne Boleyn won't be the villain in this story :) Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

**June, 1530**

The ex-Queen Catherine of Aragon prayed serenely in her diminished chambers, hoping her decision to cease fighting for her daughter's rights was the correct choice.

Mary needed to survive, and to do so, she must have the King's favour or she will be ripped mercilessly to shreds by the greedy Howard and Boleyn wolves.

"Your Majesty, letters from His Excellency and His Majesty."

She rose and took the two letters, nodding at the lady-in-waiting with thanks. She opened the first and her heart sank like a rock in the royal pond.

Mary had willingly signed the acknowledgment of the King as the Supreme Head of the Church of England and agreed that His Holiness was nothing more than a Roman bishop who had no rights to command a king of England. Catherine guessed by now, Mary had already agreed to marry the whore's brother. She knew it was her fault for resigning the fight.

She should have continued like any good mother would.

She opened the second and her heart leapt back in place.

_The King has kept his promise!_ Catherine thought delightedly. _I am invited to Mary's marriage with George as a princess and Duchess of Lancaster! George will be given the marquessate of Ormond while his father will be the Duke of Wiltshire. I suppose it is luck that Mary will remain in England and close by my side, rather than in a strange Court in the other side of the world. I hope Mary is happy in her marriage. I heard goodness about George Boleyn and I hope it is true. Perhaps it is only Anne Boleyn that is the wicked child, not George or poor Mary Boleyn. _

"We must pack," she told her ladies a few seconds later. "I am expected at Court and it will not be a long journey to Hampton Court. We will depart in an hour so we can arrive there before this evening's feast, so time is everything ladies!"

She had not been at Court for quite some time.

She wondered how she'll be received.

The Boleyn faction would loathe her beyond comprehension, but the other nobles-like the Seymours-would receive her with open arms.

Bags were hastily packed and a carriage was ordered. It had been decided that only Catherine and three of her ladies-one of which was her confidante, Maria de Salinas-would go to Court, while the rest would remain in the current manor until further notice.

"Are you excited to return?" asked Maria, sitting opposite Catherine in the carriage. "The courtiers have not seen you dance in many years!"

"My time for dancing is over," said Catherine, with a deep sigh. "The King will want to dance with his wife-to-be. I do not doubt that once our annulment is fully finalised, he will marry her without a second glance at me. Either that will be before or after Mary's wedding with George. I hope she is happy as a marchioness and in line to be a duchess."

"At times like this, you must think of yourself as well as your daughter."

"What do you mean, Maria?"

"Your daughter is growing up. She cannot remain under your protection forever. She must learn to tread carefully in Court and to be watchful under the King's eye. You done the right thing, signing over your rights as queen consort. You have one thing a queen does not have?"

"What is that? An early death from a broken heart?"

"Freedom." Catherine's heart skipped a beat as she heard that word.

"Freedom..." she repeated, the word strange on her tongue. "What about you, Maria? Why are you here, serving me? You have a daughter, who is now the 12th Baroness Willoughby de Eresby in her own right! Should you not be with her?"

"I have chosen to serve you instead," said Maria loyally. "My daughter is safely with your Mary, and your Mary needs all the support and friendship she can get. She will enjoy Court, and the King will find a suitable husband for her."

"That is well and all, but she will miss you. Once the King's affairs settle down and we find a permanent residence, I will relieve you from your duties for a few weeks and I will expect you to visit your daughter and spend time with her. It will be your responsibility to find a kind, suitable spouse for your little girl rather than the King."

"You do not have to-"

"I insist, Maria. If you leave your Catharine in the King's hands, the harlot will marry her off to one of her Howard relatives. Believe me, this is the rise of the Boleyns just as it was the rise of the Woodvilles many years ago. I can see it happening."

"Very well, Your Majesty-"

"I am 'Your Highness' now. My queenly days are over."

Maria nodded obediently. She was not pleased that her mistress must give way to the Boleyn harlot, but she was certain God's hand was in it.

He wanted Queen-no, Princess?-Catherine to step down from the throne for the good of England, and if that is what He wishes, his pawns obeyed.

"What will they call you?" said Maria out loud, blushing as Catherine raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst. "I apologise, Your Highness. I could not help but think it inconvenient for courtiers to address you constantly as 'Duchess Catherine'."

"Of course," said Catherine dismissively. "I understand your concern, Maria. If it makes you feel better, you may call me 'Infanta' like you did when we were in Spain. I believe in England, we call 'Infanta' a princess. I suppose I must get used to being called 'Duchess Catherine', as it does not sound right to be addressed as a 'princess' with my Mary as one. Whatever the King wishes to address me as, the Court will follow. Believe me in that, Maria."

_I will never accept that harlot as queen_, thought Maria savagely. _I do not care if my Queen Catherine does, but I will never do so! One day Queen Catherine will be the rightful queen at the King's side, and I will do whatever it takes to return her there, with Princess Mary as the true and only heiress of England and the future Queen Regnant of England!_

* * *

Equally anxious, the King paced nervously around his study, wondering if inviting Catherine back to Court was the right choice.

After a bitter fight, she willingly stepped down for Mary's sake, and she is her mother...it seemed right for her to be attending her own daughter's wedding.

Of course Anne wasn't happy.

"You want to invite her to my brother's wedding?" she said spitefully as the King told her the decision one night. "She will ruin it! The people will cheer her as queen!"

"It is my daughter's wedding too," Henry VIII reminded her gently. "Catherine is no longer queen, and in a few months, you will be my one and only queen. No other woman will take your place. How would you feel if your mother was refused permission to attend your wedding? Mary will be your stepdaughter in a matter of months, and it will always benefit you to befriend her rather than antagonise her. She will also be your sister-in-law in a few days' time. Do it for me, Anne? Please?"

Anne considered it. "Very well, Henry. Just for you. On one condition?"

"What?"

"Make Catherine my lady-in-waiting."

"Anne! That is outrageous! She is an Infanta of Spain! Her nephew is the Holy Roman Emperor and he will declare war on England if he discovers his aunt is a lady-in-waiting!"

"You are afraid of a man nine years your junior?! You are a king, not a mere knight! Catherine is in England, under your rule, not in Spain, Austria, or wherever her nephew's domains are! She will be my lady-in-waiting or I will forbid her to attend my brother's wedding!"

"No!" the King's eyes flashed dangerously. Anne stared boldly back at him, a tinge of fear running through her spine. Did he still carry an old flame for Catherine? If he did, Norfolk will obliterate the both of them! "Catherine will attend as an Infanta of Spain and the Duchess of Lancaster! I will not risk England falling under Charles V's wrath! You are still the Most Honourable, Lady Anne Boleyn, 1st Marquess of Pembroke, not the Queen of England! You will address Catherine by her proper title and show her the respect she deserves! You will be respectful and kind to Mary, and if either of them die in the wedding celebrations, I will hold you responsible and bed you right there and discard you on the streets! Do you understand, Lady Anne? You may not like either of them, but for me, you will! They are family, and you will love them like family!"

Anne looked defiantly at him, sparks flying from her own black eyes.

"I will not!" she said viciously. "Catherine is nothing to me! If she bothers to curtsey to me, I will spit at her feet and kick her!"

_Slap!_

Anne's hand instantly went to her stinging cheek, her confidence melting from her. She had never been slapped before-especially from the King.

"You. Will. Go," repeated the King, caressing Anne's cheek (the one he had hit). "You will show respect towards them both, or I will remove the marquessate of Pembroke from you. If you treat Mary as a bastard, your title will go as well."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," said Anne meekly, fuming with rage and humiliation. "I spoke out of term, and it will not happen again."

The King nodded, satisfied.

"You will have the privilege of choosing three men to be awarded Order of the Garters," he promised, kissing her on the forehead, his anger vanishing. "Whoever you wish to be knighted with such a prestigious order will have the honour of it! Perhaps I will give you an earldom or elevate you to the position of duchess before our marriage. Come. We must go and greet Catherine. She will be arriving in the courtyard at any minute now."

He offered her his arm and taking it, the two walked out of their chambers, a happy smile plastered on Anne's face. The King did not need to pretend to be joyful. In truth, he was pleased to see Catherine return to Court. Not that he missed her, but to smooth over relations with Spain.

"The Duchess of Lancaster has arrived," Norfolk informed them.

"Excellent," said the King uncertainly. "Show her in."

The doors opened and Catherine gracefully walked in, sweeping the King a perfect curtsey and earning gasps and whispers from the surrounding courtiers. She rose and nodded at Anne, who was obliged to curtsey, to Maria de Salinas's satisfaction.

"Your Highness," said the King tightly. "I am pleased you can arrive back at Court so quickly. I hope your journey was well and...uneventful."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," said Catherine smoothly. "I am grateful you invited me to be a guest at our daughter's wedding. I cannot thank you enough for it."

"Good. You will stay with the Court?"

"For a few weeks perhaps, but I'd like to return to a more permanent location. I am not as young as I was before." Anne inhaled a sigh of relief.

"Norfolk, fetch George," ordered the King. "Duchess Catherine, would you like to meet your future son-in-law? I can assure you that Mary approves of him."

Catherine nodded enthusiastically.

"Will you visit Spain?" said Anne sweetly. "You must miss your home, Your Grace."

"No," said Catherine politely, ignoring her last few words. "I already bid farewell to Spain many years ago. I do not need to return. My home is now England. I consider myself an Englishwoman rather than a daughter of Spain. Congratulations on your quick betrothal, Lady Anne. I hope you bear England many prosperous sons."

A chill crept through Anne's back.

Not having a son was the reason why Catherine was discarded. What if she fails her duty and finds herself on the same path as Catherine? The King had already shown his violent nature, and Catherine was treated finally due to her royal status and willingness to cooperate. What would happen to her? She had no powerful relatives abroad!

For a second, she wondered if her hatred towards Catherine and Mary was wrong.

Would she ever need them as...allies in the future?

_Never_, thought Anne, clenching her fingers together as she forced a smile. _I will have a dozen fine sons and another dozen beautiful daughters. The King will love me for eternity and praise me for my fertility and skills in childbearing. Skills that Spanish cow clearly lacks. After I give Henry our sons, Mary will kneel until her knees crack and kiss my feet._

The last thought sent thrills through her mind.

Wouldn't it be satisfying to see a princess with royal blood in her veins from both sides of her family kneel and pledge loyalty to the daughter of a mere earl-now duke?

"I thank you for your...thoughtfulness," smirked Anne. "However, I can assure you that the King and I will have plentiful sons. Enough for one to be the Prince of Wales, one to dedicate his life to the Church of England and a dozen to be fine soldiers and scholars. We will have a nursery full of them. We will also have daughters. Many daughters, all married to the most powerful kings, dukes and princes in all of Christendom while your daughter will be nothing more than a marchioness. What do you say, Duchess? I imagined Mary as the perfect lady-in-waiting for either myself or my first daughter. Can you imagine her scraping clean the chamber pots and scrubbing the floor till her hands and knees bleed? Once my many daughters marry royals, she must give way to them."

The King stared at her with horror.

His beautiful, clever Anne-! Those cannot be her words!

"I am glad you are so confident," said Catherine, who remained surprisingly pleasant. "I look forward to the christening of your many sons and daughters. Ah! Who is this? You must be Mary's betrothed, the 1st Marquess of Ormond!"

Walking in, George bowed to his future mother-in-law, who looked at him kindly and with some sort of interest he couldn't describe.

"Lord Ormond," greeted Catherine, pleased with George's physical features and deciding that it wouldn't be long before Mary would fall in love with him. After all, he was quite handsome-for a Boleyn-and his eyes showed signs of sincerity and honesty. Traits his sister did not inherit. "You are the lucky man who will marry my daughter!"

"Your Highness," said George, careful not to call her 'Your Majesty'. "It is an honour to meet you. I have heard...great things about you, and I find myself incredibly fortunate to be the Princess Mary's husband and your son-in-law."

Norfolk restrained himself from an ugly scowl.

He wished his son, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, would marry the Princess. Even though the Boleyns were related by blood, he wanted more. His daughter Mary, was set to be engaged to the King's acknowledged illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, 1st Duke of Richmond, and he had hoped for his heir to marry the Princess and for him to control her.

With the Princess under his roof, he would ensure her utter submission to his family. However, with George Boleyn as her husband-to-be...

"Where is my daughter?" said Catherine, glancing around.

"In her chambers," said the King promptly. "Praying I suppose. After I created George the 1st Marquess of Ormond, she requested permission to retire and pray for good fortune for her future. I agreed. It won't be long now before she presents me with a grandson!"

Anne paled, to Maria's delight.

"Is anything the matter, Lady Anne?" she said innocently. "Are you unwell?"

The King whipped his head around and stared at Anne anxiously.

"I am fine," said Anne hastily. "A little um...tired. That is all."

"Nervous for the big day, I suppose," said Catherine mildly. "As am I. Perhaps it is time for supper? The journey was uneventful, yet tiring, and I feel a slight bit peckish."

Anne nodded in agreement, a little grateful at her nemesis for changing the topic.

To both Anne and Catherine's surprise, Henry offered Catherine his arm, and the two of them walked grandly to the feasting hall, a spectacle astonishing many nobles along the way. Unhappily taking second place (again) to the same woman she bore hatred towards, Anne quickly grabbed George's arm and followed the King and Catherine, her head held high and proud.

"That was foolish of you," George hissed into Anne's ear. "What possessed you to boast of your fertility and your...plans for Princess Mary?! You're lucky the King didn't execute you!"

"The Lady Mary," said Anne scornfully. "She is to be your wife, and she will be Lady Mary Boleyn. I will

ensure she becomes a lady-in-waiting. Can you believe it?! He is walking with that Spanish bitch!"

"Ssh! Anne! Do not speak so loudly! You are not yet queen! The King said that even after Mary marries me, she will always be a princess of England. I know our uncle stressed loathing towards Catherine, but I think you should make peace with her."

"Why?! She means nothing to me!"

"She will be related to you through my marriage with Mary."

"I can elevate you to a dukedom, give you estates, wealth, power, anything! Just don't make me sue for peace with that bitch. I will give you anything you want, if you can convince your future wife to stay at Court as my lady-in-waiting."

"No!" George looked at her, scandalised and a little angry. "I will not have a princess of England as your lady-in-waiting. If you dare insult her or her mother again, you will lose me as a supporter and a brother. I love you as a brother should, but this cannot carry on! If you do not apologise to Catherine, I will go to the countryside with Mary immediately after our wedding. I will not remain in a Court where I constantly see you attempt to rip out her throat."

"You are my brother! Why aren't you happy for me?!"

George said nothing.

How on earth can he explain his mixed feelings for the poor, suffering princess to his heartlessly ambitious and cruel sister?

"You are on her side?" said Anne, horrified, stepping away from him. "No...please tell me that isn't true, George! You have not abandoned me now! I convinced the King to make you a marquess! If it wasn't for me, you would've remained as a viscount! Don't leave me! You owe me!"

"I don't owe you anything," said George, more coldly than he intended to be. "The King does not wish for his daughter to be a mere viscountess and elevated me to a marquessate. You did nothing. In fact, I distinctively remember you trying to convince the King that the highest I should go is an earldom. If my affianced was not Princess Mary, you would have wanted a dukedom for me. Until you make peace with Catherine and Mary, I consider myself no longer your brother."

He nodded curtly to her and walked away, no longer feeling hungry.

Anne stared after him, confused.

What had happened to the brother she loved and trusted?

It seems a betrothal with a princess had changed his personality!

"Why are you not at the feast?" George turned and bowed as he saw Mary looking at him, clinging to the door of her chambers. "You were invited."

"Your Highness," said George, smiling stiffly at her. "Forgive me, I was startled. I found my stomach unwilling to embrace more food at the moment. What about you? There will always be a place at the table for you, Your Highness."

"How was my mother?"

"Very well, Your Highness. The Duchess of Lancaster is more cordial to my sister than she was to her. I guess the Duchess approved of me, but it is hard to tell. Your mother has an excellent poker face that even I cannot imitate!"

"She has not been harmed?"

"Harmed, Your Highness?" He seemed perplexed. "Why would she be harmed?"

"Your uncle for one, does not seem keen to have her around."

"He is not foolish enough to hire an assassin to kill your mother on the way here. I agree he has motive, but Anne isn't married to the King yet, nor am I to you! The irony is that if he orders your mother's assassination now, his plans would all fail."

"You are right. I am too cautious I suppose."

"Nonsense, Princess Mary! Caution is needed here in Court!"

Mary smiled shyly at him and he smiled charmingly back.

"This may sound stupid," he admitted, taking a step forward. "I know we met under rough circumstances and you have every right to hate me and my family, but I found it clearer now than ever before. Ever since I saw you, I loved you. Even when you were running around in the gardens, being chased by a whole flock of governesses fearing execution for abandoning you, I found you enchanting. You may still harbour feelings of hatred towards me, but I don't care. I said this before, but I mean it now. Even if I get disinherited from my family for truly loving you, it'll be worth it. I'll give up all my worldly possessions to taste the sweetness of love."

"I love you too," confessed Mary, looking away.

"You do?"

"Indeed, Lord Ormond. At first, I was suspicious of you. I thought you only wanted to marry me to control and break me. I was actually prepared to fight you all the way. I thought you were the same as Anne Boleyn. Made of nothing but ambition. Clearly, you are a different Boleyn. One with a heart of pure gold. I'm happy my mother approves of you."

"As am I, dear Mary. I can call you that, can't I? I am tired of formalities and I cannot wait till we are seen together as husband and wife."

Mary felt tingling in her body as he spoke.

Was it the handy work of love?

"I am afraid," she said softly. "There will always be other Howards and Boleyns wanting my death and the death of my mother. I am frightened, Lord Ormond. What if your father poisons me in our wedding celebrations? I will threaten any of Anne's children."

"You will never be harmed, nor your mother, dear Mary. I can protect you both until the day I die, only on one condition."

"What is that?"

"You call me George."

* * *

**Thanks for the positive reviews! Yes, I promised Anne wouldn't be the villain, but please just cope with her evilness for a few chapters or so! Next chapter's the wedding :) Question for the future of this fanfiction: should Mary become Queen of England in her own right? Your choice. Most comments on either option determines the fate of this story. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

**July, 1530**

The sun shone brightly on its throne in the sky, its powerful arms reaching to all corners of England, distinguishing all the possibility of rain.

Everything bore the signs of good fortune.

In her chambers, Mary waited excitedly as her maids carefully fixed her hair and smoothed her beautiful white gown patterned in gold and red Tudor roses. Catherine beamed proudly at her and watched as her daughter stood up and looked at her expectedly.

"Beautiful," said Catherine, wiping away a tear. "You are indeed the Pearl of England. I never thought I would see you wed in England. You were always destined for Spain of France...alas, we will never be separated again, my Mary."

Mary smiled glowingly.

Catherine handed her a velvet box.

"What is it?" said Mary curiously.

"My wedding gift to you," said Catherine mysteriously. "Go on, open it. The box wouldn't open by itself, will it?" She felt her heart flutter like a butterfly as Mary curiously opened it, wonder and inquisition shining in her eyes.

Mary gasped.

Nestling comfortably on soft tissues was a silver bracelet, decorated with charms alternating between tiny Tudor roses with stones of rubies, diamonds, emeralds and topazes and pomegranates created from beautiful wine red rubies.

"I was given that by my mother before I left Spain," explained Catherine. "It had been my destiny to be queen of England, and it was commissioned for me as a reminder that I am both a queen of England and an Infanta of Spain. I planned for a new charm to join the collection, either fleur-de-lis if you marry into France, or the imperial eagle if you marry into Spain or the Holy Roman Empire. As your marriage is sudden, I had no time to add the falcon charm."

"I love it!" breathed Mary, tears glistening in her eyes. "Mother! This is lovely! Did you wear it on the day of your wedding?"

"Yes, my Mary. I wore it when I married the King's elder brother, Arthur Tudor, and wore it again when I married your father, the King."

"I shall wear it when I marry George Boleyn."

"I hope it will bring you luck and fortune in your lives together."

Mary embraced her tightly.

"Will you accept Anne Boleyn as queen?" she asked.

Catherine's lips tightened. "If I must, so be it. Even if she plays her most powerful card and gives the King a son, I will always have the upper hand. She is the descendant of merchants and mere noblemen, while I am descended from great kings and queens. You will always be greater than any child she has, even if it is a boy. We will curtsey to her as society deems fit, but in our hearts, we know we will always have more royal blood and status than she does."

Mary nodded at her wisdom.

"You look perfect," said Catherine, placing one of Mary's wavy strands of hair behind her ear. "I cannot be more proud of you. Here." She took a silver diadem adorned with miniature rubies from the purple velvet cushion and placed it on Mary's head.

"Should I wear a necklace?" wondered Mary.

"No, Your Highness," said a voice at the door. Both Mary and Catherine turned, and to their surprise and displeasure, Mary (nee' Boleyn), Lady Carey, stood there calmly.

"Lady Carey," said Catherine icily. "What are you doing here? Whether my daughter wears a necklace or not is a decision we can make without you."

"Your Highnesses," said Lady Mary, curtseying. "I know you do not wish to see me-especially at a time like this-but may I give you some advice?"

"Very well, but we may not heed to it."

"Of course, Your Highness. It is Boleyn tradition for the newly wedded husband to give a special

necklace to his wife before they kiss in the ceremony. My father gave my mother a necklace on the day of their wedding, and George will be expected to do so today as well."

"Why will my Mary be expected to follow your traditions? She is a princess, not a mere lady!"

"She will be a Boleyn through marriage, and it had been happening for generations. Pardon me for speaking so frankly Your Highness, but Princess Mary will be a Boleyn tonight and no matter her status, tradition is tradition." Fury erupted through Catherine and she refrained herself from slapping the harlot's equally whoring sister on the cheek.

"Mother, it is alright," said Mary quickly, before Catherine could retort. "Lady Mary is right. I will be a Boleyn through marriage, and it is only right if I go through this ceremony as a Boleyn should. Lady Mary has given us valuable advice. My future son will have to follow Boleyn tradition."

Catherine nodded grudgingly.

She is pleased her daughter is happy, but still mildly irritated that her future son-in-law would be closely related to her arch-enemy.

"Be happy for me?" said Mary, her eyes widening pleadingly at her mother. "I can never remain happily married if you refuse to acknowledge the Boleyns as family now and allow me to take part in their family traditions and customs like this. You should be grateful that the King has agreed to make George a marquess, instead of leaving him as a viscount to humiliate you."

Catherine nodded slowly. It was time for her to move on from the bitter past.

"Forgive me, Lady Carey," she said to Lady Mary, who had witnessed the entire conversation with wide, curious eyes. "I spoke too…bluntly to you."

"That is alright, Your Highness," answered Lady Mary promptly. "Oh, the King wishes to tell you that his um, bastard son, Henry Fitzroy, 1st Duke of Richmond, will be attending as well as his royal Scottish niece, Lady Margaret Douglas. Everyone is ready for you, Princess."

"Thank you," said Mary, more warmly than Catherine. "I will be there in a minute. Mother, do you want to join the guests and family members? I heard that Sir Thomas More is released from the Tower and will attend. Maybe you should greet him?"

Brightening up, Catherine left the room, giving Lady Mary a final scathing glare.

"I'm sorry about my mother," said Mary, walking towards Lady Mary. "She will not accept you as family for quite some time."

"No matter, Your Highness."

"Please, call me 'Mary'. We will be sisters after all, will we not?"

"Very well…Mary."

"Can you tell me about George?"

"Um…will you change your mind about marrying him if you hear matters about him you do not like or do not approve of?"

"No."

"He was everyone's favourite as a child. Even Uncle Norfolk approved of him, and always said that George will rise high in life. I suppose he's right. Marrying a princess is an extremely high honour. He is intelligent, witty, a man every girl dreams of marrying. He did…have affairs with tavern wenches, but that was when he was unmarried. I'm sure when you two are married, he will forget his whoring ways. He can be a heavy drinker too, but that is rare."

"It is us women labelled whores when we cheat on our husbands."

Lady Mary nodded in agreement.

"I will be walking behind you," she said helpfully. "So will our first cousin, Mary Howard (Uncle Norfolk's daughter). Baroness Catharine Willoughby will be holding your train. I thought to let you know in case you are surprised to see us behind you."

"I hope I see you more after my marriage," said Mary shyly, slowly warming up to her future sister-in-law. "Maybe…we can be friends."

Lady Mary smiled, her blue eyes sparkling at the prospective.

Taking a deep breath, Mary walked down the stairs and the double doors swung open. Feeling every eye in the chapel upon her, she gracefully floated down the aisle, with two Marys and a Catharine behind her. From the front pew, the King, his youngest sister, Mary, Duchess of Suffolk, her husband and his best friend, Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk, their eldest daughter, Lady Frances Brandon and Margaret Douglas smiled broadly at her, tears in her mother's eyes. Tight-lipped and with a visible frown, Anne scowled at her. Mary flashed her a smile before staring ahead at Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. It was a Protestant ceremony, but for once, Mary didn't care.

She was getting married, and she had strong feelings towards George. The first thought was a marriage of convenience, but that was no longer the case.

It was a love match.

A minute later, Cranmer began saying the vows.

"I, George Boleyn, 1st Marquess of Ormond and Viscount Rochford, take thee, Princess Mary Tudor of England," announced George. "To be my lawful wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"I, Princess Mary Tudor of England , take thee, George Boleyn, 1st Marquess of Ormond and Viscount Rochford," said Mary loudly. "To be my lawful wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

"With this Ring I thee wed," said George, placing a ring, encrusted with small emeralds and diamonds on her finger. "With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

He took a necklace strung with pearls with the letter 'M' forged from pure gold with three hanging droplets of pearls from a red velvet cushion and placed it around Mary's neck. She quickly glanced at Anne, and was pleased to see her gripping her own famous matching necklace (the difference was it had a 'B' instead of a 'M') so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her expression so sour it seemed as if she swallowed raw lemons.

George leant forward and kissed Mary, cheers and claps erupting from the guests.

Mary took a deep breath.

Her life as Princess Mary Tudor of England was over. Her tenure as Mary Boleyn, Princess of England, Marchioness of Ormond and Viscountess Rochford had began.

* * *

Laughter and chatter accompanied the instruments and dancing as the courtiers began moving around rather than sitting and eating.

George danced with Mary, the couple blissfully happy.

From the shadows of a large oak tree, Catherine's strongest supporter, Sir Thomas More, watched them dance and laugh, his eyes narrowing as anger and fury began possessing him. A nobleman does not deserve to wed a princess! Especially a womanising sap like George Boleyn! Princess Mary deserved to marry a king, or at least a prince! Catherine had given up, but he hadn't. Catholicism will be restored properly in England, and Princess Mary will be head of it, whether she likes it or not! He almost snarled as his eyes fell upon George Boleyn.

It was that Boleyn's fault Princess Mary is now trapped in a loveless marriage! For the good of England, he will restore Catholicism, and the first step was to rescue Princess Mary and marry her off to a devout Catholic Spaniard as she was supposed to be.

"Sir Thomas More! What are you doing here?"

Sir Thomas spun around and saw a man who was once his colleague and now an enemy.

Thomas Cromwell.

One of the men responsible for Mary's unhappy marriage!

"I was invited," said Sir Thomas coldly. "Should you not be celebrating? Relishing your moment? I suppose it was your idea to marry the Princess off to George Boleyn?"

Cromwell bowed mockingly.

"You should have signed the Oath," he snickered. "If you did, you would rise higher than you had ever went! Perhaps you will be given a barony, or maybe an earldom? Now it is all gone, just because you sided with the wrong woman! I told you once that all my plans succeed, and voila! Your Spaniard is no longer our queen of England, and my Reformist lady will be. You will find yourself executed sometime in the future, and I am in line to receive a peerage from our glorious King! Why don't you do yourself a favour and run from England now you have the chance?"

"Why?" challenged Sir Thomas, his old, scholarly spark returning briefly. "Do you still think me an opponent to your religious schemes? Hmm?"

"I want to save your life." He leant closer. "Can you not see that? Humanist?"

"Save my life? Fool. Why would you? I am a Catholic, you are a heretic."

"Heresy depends on the thinker, More. In a way, we are both heretics. We were once colleagues, in the household of poor deceased Cardinal Thomas Wolsey. Even if you're a Catholic now, I am willing for us to patch it up and work together to create a better England. Run to France, Italy or wherever you want, and I will work to earn you a pardon here."

"So I can be seen as a villain and you the saviour?"

"Every man values freedom."

"If you wish for us to be allies, I want you to convince the King to annul Princess Mary's marriage with George Boleyn and marry her off to a Prince of Spain or Portugal. She deserves to marry a prince, not some nobleman descended from merchants!"

"Unfortunately that cannot be possible, Sir Thomas. They have only just married. Your Spanish lady has given up and remains in the King's good graces. You do too, and you will survive. Wouldn't you rather live than to be torn down by wolves, More?"

"Enjoy shining your heretical faith in the King's eyes for now. Someday, Princess Mary will become the true queen of England, and Catholicism will return. Mark my words."

He slinked off without saying another word.

"Are you speaking treason, Sir Thomas?" said Cromwell lazily, watching him stop in his tracks. "Would you like to return to the Tower, but this time in a more...suitable dungeon? I can hear the Rack calling your name, Sir Thomas!"

"I do not need you to hold my hand to survive here!" retorted Sir Thomas. "I will not run! I face my enemies, not hide and cower from them! Do you?"

Slightly annoyed, Cromwell went to congratulate the newlyweds, brushing the humanist's biting words from his mind.

"Cromwell," said George, smiling at him. "I'm pleased you can attend!"

"I will never miss a Boleyn wedding," said Cromwell, bowing to him and Mary. "Princess Mary, may I offer my congratulations? I hope you are fruitful in your union and will present us with a Boleyn lord or lady in ten months, eh? I wish you both well for the future. Give my blessing to Lady Anne Boleyn, will you, Lady Ormond?" It took Mary a minute before realising he was speaking to her. As if sensing it, Cromwell smiled ruefully, bowed and disappeared.

"I will never get used to it," she grumbled more to herself than to George. "All my life, I was 'Her Royal Highness, the Princess Mary Tudor', and now your family members and allies have the pleasure of giving me the degrading title of 'Lady Ormond'."

"You can command them to call you 'princess'?" George suggested.

"Courtiers!" announced the King, standing up. "Today is a special day, celebrating the marriage between my Pearl and the 1st Marquess of Ormond! Even though she has married a marquess, my Mary will remain as a princess and she will be addressed for the rest of her life as 'Her Royal Highness, the Princess Mary! Or-" He paused dramatically. "As a wedding gift to my Pearl, I have decided from today forth that the eldest daughter of the King will be given the title 'Princess Royal', a title she would keep forever and only she has the power to relinquish it during her lifetime! All my future daughters with the Lady Anne Boleyn will be princesses of England, but only Princess Mary will hold the prestigious title of 'Princess Royal' until her death! A toast to the Princess Royal and the Marquess of Ormond!"

"To the Princess Royal and the Marquess of Ormond!"

Goblets clinked and the mingling resumed.

Needless to say, Anne was not pleased.

"What was that for?" she complained, as the King sat back down. "Mary is already a princess, she does not deserve or need another title! She is already princess of England at birth and now through marriage, she is a marchioness and a viscountess! Why did you make her the Princess Royal? Why can't our first daughter have that title?"

"Mary is my firstborn," said the King shortly. "At the moment, she is the first lady at Court, not you. We are not married yet, Lady Anne. Will the people not find it odd if my second daughter is given a special title, while my eldest is not? That will cause them to rally to Catherine's side even more! If you cannot control yourself, you have my permission to leave."

Festivities continued well until midnight before the King decided to retire.

Mary paled as she realised the next step in her marriage; the consummation.

"It can wait if you're afraid," said George, squeezing her hand gently. "We don't have to go through this tonight if you are scared or tired. I won't force you."

"No," she said, not recognising her own voice. "I'm...good. The King is expecting it, as is your father and uncle. Rumours do travel quickly around Court. Faster than the messenger."

George nodded, suddenly finding himself nervous.

He had bedded a countless number of ladies-both commoners and wanton noblewomen (not as many as the Duke of Suffolk though!)-but he was a bachelor back then. Now he was married, and the thought of bedding a virgin princess terrified him.

What if he hurt her?

Mary and George went into their chamber and stared at each other-Mary more at the ground.

"It'll be alright," murmured George, unpinning her hair. "I'll be gentle. I promise." Another pin fell to the floor, followed by necklace, the bracelet, the gown...

* * *

Mary felt sore.

Sore all over; her legs, body…

She didn't even have enough energy to pull herself from the large bed when the maid pulled the curtains away, allowing the sunlight to stream through the glass window.

Mary opened a tired eye and jumped out of bed.

A pool of dried blood on the bed stared back at her. She took a deep breath. It was normal…her mother had warned her of this…she had been legally deflowered. She is no longer a maiden. She is a wife. Now all she needed to do was be a mother and have a child.

She touched her flat stomach absently.

Would she be already pregnant?

"Good morning wife! How are you today?" George came up behind her and kissed her neck.

"Tired," groaned Mary, embracing him back. "I didn't realise it would be painful and so…tiring. How on earth do you look so normal? You don't even look as if you are tired!"

"I'm not, sweetheart. I vowed to you last night that I won't keep any secrets from you, and I will tell you the truth. I've done it before, and often boasted about it with my mates. Don't be alarmed! I didn't sleep with as many women as Charles Brandon, and the majority of them were willing whores after drunk nights in taverns! I promise I will remain faithful to you as long as we are married for. Only death will pull me away from you. Ready for breakfast?"

"Do I have to?"

"I will ask a maid to prepare you a tray. Sit down. If you are too weary to walk downstairs today, I will send meals up to you."

"Thank you."

George kissed her again and walked downstairs, in a jovial mood.

He sat down and his mood lowered a little as his father took a seat across him.

"I trust you had a good night," he said, helping himself to a piece of bacon. "Did she whimper like a wounded puppy and beg you not to hurt her? Or was she the screaming whore? Did you plant your seed into her yet?"

"It is too early to tell," said George uncertainly. "I hope she has a child-a son of course-and I do not think I ripped her to shreds..."

"No, George. I want her to have a daughter. You look surprised, and I blame that on the amount of drink

you have consumed last night. Anne must have a son first. It will do you good if you have a girl first."

"You always wanted a son…"

"Yes, yes, but that was _before_ Anne's betrothal to the King. She will give England a Tudor prince, and all of England will realise that the King's marriage to Anne was perfect, as she gives the King a son while the Spanish woman couldn't do so. If your wife happens to become pregnant before Anne, she must have a daughter. It will emphasise her mother's inability to have a son and how she unfortunately inherited it. If she has a son second, the people will think that it is our brilliant ability to have sons while those Spaniards can never do so."

"Mary's aunts have many sons."

"No one will put that into consideration. Put it this way; you have a son first, I will smother him to death. A daughter? It will do all of us favours." Swallowing a goblet full of ale, Wiltshire stood up and stroded out, leaving George staring at his empty plate without an appetite.

_If a son first, I will smother him…_echoed in his head. _If a daughter, it will do all of us favours…if a son first, I will smother him…if a daughter, it will do all of us favours…all of us…_

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews, favourites and alerts! Greatly appreciated :) I'm planning to update a chapter once three to four days and hoping I won't get writer's block on this story! Again, I will ask for your opinion of whether Mary should become queen or not. Akewataru, that was a brilliant idea! Who knows? Maybe I might use it if the decision of Mary's future still results in a tie in later chapters... :) Read and review! **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

**September, 1530**

It was Mary's first official return to Court as the Princess Royal, Marchioness of Ormond and Viscountess Rochford and above all, the sister-in-law to the newly crowned Queen Anne.

She stepped out the carriage, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

"Don't worry," said George, wrapping an arm around her. "Even if Anne doesn't like you, I will protect you from any harm she can bring."

The two were escorted into the throne room, where Anne sat beside the King, a smug grin on her face as she saw them.

"Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal and the Most Honourable Marquess of Ormond!" announced the herald as they curtsied/bowed.

"My Pearl, George," said the King warmly, gesturing for them to rise. "What a pleasure to see you back in Court, rather than in the countryside! My Pearl, if I wanted you to live in that manor for the rest of your life, I would've married you off to a Seymour! I hope the two of you will remain permanently at Court! I am sure you know my wife, Queen Anne?"

This was the test Mary loathed.

"Sister," said George, kissing her hand with a low bow.

"Madame," said Mary stiffly, nodding at her. "I heard your wedding was magnificent. I hope you are blessed with having Tudor princes and princesses, specifically princes. I cannot wait to hold a baby brother in my arms one day."

The King nodded approvingly.

"I hope so too," said Anne with a fake smile. "I am certain God will gift us with a bonny son. After all, our marriage has no sins in it. A perfect match, do you not agree, _Lady_ Ormond?"

"Yes," said Mary, not meaning a single word she said. "God bless you, Madame."

She curtsied and departed, her head held high.

"George…" said Anne, gritting her teeth, before George could follow her wretched stepdaughter. "A word, please? Husband, can I have a moment alone with my brother?"

Giving her a lovesick smile, the King obliged, leaving George alone with Anne.

"What have you been doing with her for the last couple of months?!" snarled Anne, her nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

"What a husband normally does with a wife?" said George, puzzled.

"Oh please! You have fallen in love with that bastard, haven't you?! No! Don't say anything! All you will say is words of denial! This isn't a love match! It's a marriage of convenience! You aren't supposed to fall in love with her! You are supposed to BREAK HER! She was supposed to curtsey, not nod to me! She was supposed to fear me! Not talk back to me! By God's name! It is said that children conceived from love are sons, and those from duty are girls! Well?! Say something!"

"You told me not to talk, dear sister. After all, whatever I say will be denial. I doubt that theory you heard is true. Edward IV of England married Elizabeth Woodville out of love and they had a dozen daughters with only a few sons."

"Bah! Elizabeth Woodville's mother had a dozen daughters!"

"Whether I fall in love with Mary or not is my business and my business alone."

"No. Ever since I became queen, your business is my business. Did you hear what she said? She wants to hold my son! She will poison him for sure! I want to see her broken! Show her what Boleyns are made of and they will never forget an enemy!"

"The King told you to make friends with her. Even Uncle Norfolk suggested you to be cordial to her in case you have no sons-"

"I WILL HAVE SONS!"

If he had not married Mary, he would have attempted to calm Anne down, soothe her with witty words and compliments. Now, his loyalties have shifted.

"Every queen says that," said George flatly. "There was never a queen who did not promise her husband sons. Every queen comforts herself that she will have sons. The Duchess of Lancaster promised the King many sons, and only one survived a week. It's time to open your eyes, Anne. If the King had a son with her, by God! That child would be stocked with the finest royal blood in both sides! Let us say he still divorces the Duchess and marries you and has a son. What then?"

Anne flushed with anger.

"Are you doubting my fertility?!" she hissed. "_Lady_ Catherine has no sons and I will! For the sake of argument that she did…have a son, how is that questionable?"

"You are not using your brain," said George plainly. "Think again. Who will the people want on the throne? A Catholic prince descended from great kings, or a Protestant prince with royal and noble blood? I know which prince I will support."

"You will support a Catholic prince over my own son?"

"Hypothetically he would be older with more claim, so yes."

"Get. Out."

Bowing, George left a fuming Anne muttering to herself. However, George's words remained glued firmly in mind.

_What will happen then?_ She wondered. _What if I have a son and the King dies? Will the people support him, or will they still follow Mary? Will they want a prince descended from merchants or a princess descended from kings and queens? By God, what if George is right? What if fortune turns on us and favours…Princess Mary? _

* * *

Even though he resigned as chancellor, Sir Thomas found himself in a council meeting rather than in an interrogation session in the Tower.

It was one of the King's favourite topics; France.

"We should have an alliance with France," tried Norfolk. "The Queen was raised in France, and it seems more likely the French will be easily swayed to our side rather than the Spaniards. Perhaps even now as we speak, they are plotting to invade!"

"You cannot trust the French!" Cromwell snapped at his former ally. "They will draw us into their endless wars in Italy, and what will that achieve?! We need peace, and I heard that the Spaniards are considering to ally themselves with France! What will happen when they both invade us? I say we leave France and Spain squabbling amongst themselves and befriend one of the German states like Cleves! A small state, but very rich!"

"Cleves?! Are you insane, Cromwell?! I've never even heard of that place before!"

"Of course you haven't, Norfolk. It is a German state who has broken from Rome."

"Really?" said the King, interrupting their argument.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," said Cromwell smugly. "Cleves has broken from Rome along with other German duchies and principalities. I think to solidify your break from Rome and promote the Church of England, you should ally with Cleves."

"France and Spain will laugh in your face, Your Majesty!" argued Norfolk. "As a strong king, you should ally England with other powerful nations! If Spain or France acknowledges your divorce with the Duchess of Lancaster and marriage with Queen Anne, the rest of Christendom will too! Will you not want your future children with Queen Anne to be married to royal princes and princesses? That cannot occur if you make enemies of France and Spain!"

To Cromwell's alarm, the King frowned slightly.

"More," he said, turning to Sir Thomas, to the other councillors' surprise. "What do you think? You have always stressed on the importance of peace. What shall it be? France, Spain or Cleves? You want to keep your head, don't you? Answer the question!"

"Spain," said Sir Thomas, uncertain why keeping his head had to do with deciding a kingdom for England to ally with. "The Duchess of Lancaster is Spanish, and if we can persuade the Spaniards to accept your new marriage, peace will prevail, as the Catholics here will realise the Spaniards will not aid them if they still support her when the Queen gives you a son."

That must've been the correct answer, as the King nodded appreciatively.

"Spain it is!" he declared, standing up. "Norfolk, Cromwell, More, the three of you draw up the treaty and give it to me to sign when it is done! Once I read and sign it, I will ask His Excellency, Chapuys, to deliver it to his imperial master. I hope by then, the Queen has a son to prove it all! Oh, and add that if marriage is needed to consolidate this treaty, offer my future eldest daughter with Anne for the Emperor's son, Philip, Prince of Asturias."

Sir Thomas nodded and was pleased to see Cromwell's anger expressed in his eyes.

"This meeting is over," dismissed the King, heading towards the door. "Sir Thomas, we will talk later. I will send for you. I must attend to my queen."

His heart leapt as he saw Anne hurrying towards him, a smile on her face.

"My love!" he said happily. "What are you doing here?"

"I have news!" Anne said, her eyes sparkling with joy. "I was not feeling my best this morning, which may have been responsible for being uncivil towards my brother and...Princess Mary. I felt ill, and according to my sister, Lady Carey, I had symptoms of pregnancy. To be sure, I confirmed with a physician and a midwife-" She took a dramatic pause. "I am with child!"

The King stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Are you not pleased?" said Anne, battering her long eyelashes.

"I, I..." stammered the King. "I..." Swooping in and saving him from further stutter, Anne kissed him on the lips, feeling so content that not even Mary can ruin her mood. Actually, she wanted her to hear the news before anyone else.

"Can we tell Mary?" asked Anne, pulling away from him. "She is your daughter after all, and I think she should be first to know after you. Perhaps our relationship may improve after she sees her little half-brother in my arms."

The King nodded, delighted.

His precious Anne was pregnant, and she wanted to fix the breach between her and Mary! Nothing could have made him happier.

"We will have dinner together!" he decreed. "You, me, Mary and George! Just the four of us and you will tell them the good news!"

Fortunately for them, suppertime was close and summoning Mary and George was not difficult.

"Your Majesties," said George and Mary together.

"Please, sit," said the King, nodding at the two remaining empty chairs tucked in.

The first course was served quickly.

"Anne and I have news for you," said the King, as excited as he was in 1510 when Catherine announced her first pregnancy. "We are happy to announce that Anne is with child! As we speak, she is carrying the future of England in her womb. A Tudor prince of Wales."

Mary's smile froze.

A prince...

She realised Anne studied her craftily for a reaction. One she deliberately refused to give.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty, sister," said George, speaking for them both. "However, I have equally good news for the both of you. Last month, Mary was not feeling her best, and we thought it would be better for her to stay in the countryside for another month before returning to Court. Before we travelled here, I had her checked out by a physician, and he said that she has been pregnant for two months and is in her third. A child can be expected next year in early March."

This time it was Anne, whose smile froze.

Mary...with child?

_Good_, thought George, grinning with satisfaction. _Both Anne and Mary are pregnant. Perhaps they can get along better now._

"You are?" said the King, staring at Mary.

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Mary, managing a smile. "I did not know when to tell you. I thought I would wait a little longer to be certain, but now..."

"You must take care, do not stress yourself," advised the King, whose attention towards his wife had slightly ceased. "George is right. The countryside is perfect for your first pregnancy. You reside in Grimston Manor, yes? What about the Palace of Beaulieu? It is better suited for a princess and her spouse and their future child. It will be a son of course."

"We rather not choose the gender," said George carefully. "We thought it would be better if it is a

surprise. However, if it is a son, we are planning to name him 'Henry', to honour you above all other men."

The King smiled, appeased.

He loved it when he was godfather or a child was named in his honour.

"What about our son?" he said, turning to Anne. "Will he be a Henry too? England is flourishing with our many noble Henrys!"

"I was thinking of naming him 'Henry'," admitted Anne. "However, as you said, there are Henrys at Court and on the field, and maybe a 'Edward' would do? We can name him in honour of your maternal grandfather if you like."

The King nodded enthusiastically.

"Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales," he tried. "A perfect name! Of course we will have sons, but what if we have a daughter sometime after you give me a fine brood of sons?"

"Elizabeth," said Anne promptly. "After your mother and mine."

The King smiled reminiscently as he remembered his mother, Elizabeth of York.

He always imagined that he was her favourite...

"What will you name your child if you have a daughter?" he asked Mary and George. "Please not another Elizabeth! We do not want England blooming with Elizabeths now do we?!"

"Katherine," answered Mary to no one's surprise. "After my mother."

"Would it not be better to name it after a member of George's family?" said Anne, offering her a sickly, fake smile. "I choose to honour my husband's family before my own. Should you not do the same, Princess Mary? Honour George's before your own?"

"It is fine with me," said George hastily, shooting Anne a glare. "Mary loves her mother, and as the King said there is no rush to have an army of Elizabeths, I am fine with our daughter being named after Mary's mother. Besides, we have a maternal...great grandmother with the same name, Lady Catherine Moleyns, wife of John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk. Do you not like the name 'Katherine', Your Majesty? I think it is a lovely name for a daughter."

Anne sulked but said nothing.

"Anne is right," said the King, with a small frown. "It is always wise to honour the child's paternal family before their maternal. My mother named my elder sister, Margaret, Queen of Scots, after our father's mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort..."

"Your grandfather, Edward IV, named his eldest daughter-your mother-after his wife," Mary pointed out. "It was his third daughter, Princess Cecily of York, Viscountess Welles, who was named after his own mother, Cecily Neville."

Anne scowled again.

"Name her after me?" she hinted.

"Yes!" said the King, brightening up.

"Perhaps our second or third daughter," said George carefully, protecting Mary from more harm Anne planned to inflict on her. "Mary really wants our eldest daughter to be called 'Katherine', and Katherine she shall be. No more will be said on the matter."

Mary sighed gratefully.

Anne was another story.

Ever since her coronation (or perhaps even earlier), she had realised she would never gain the common folk's approval, and would never be as loved by the people as her living predecessor and the only card she had to play to win their love was having a son. She was aware that many nobles named their daughters after Catherine of Aragon, honouring her, and she wanted that.

She wanted to be loved and honoured.

Even her brother refused to name his future daughter after her!

Utter humiliation!

"Lady Katherine Boleyn," said George out loud. "What do you think, Your Majesty? I find it a lovely name, do you?"

"Yes," agreed the King, dreaming of a dozen red-headed boys laughing and running across the freshly cut grass of the royal gardens, and a brood of black-haired and blonde-haired girls, sitting quietly under the shade of the huge oak trees, watching their brothers run and embroidering or creating daisy chains, an activity he remembered his sisters Margaret and Mary loved doing when they were children. It was a perfect family that Anne will give him. "A wonderful name."

Anne chewed an apple.

It was always Mary! Mary this, Mary that! Even the King prefers his future granddaughter named after that Spanish bitch!

She hoped Mary would die in childbirth.

For the remainder of the meal, it was relatively silent, with a polite comment here and there. It was mostly George and the King doing the talking.

* * *

It was not long before the news of both Anne and Mary's pregnancies spread throughout Court like uncontrollable wildfire.

It was viewed with alarm by both the Catholics and Reformers.

As both women's pregnancies progressed well, Cromwell watched and plotted before the perfect plan sprang into mind with an equally perfect scapegoat; Sir Thomas More.

Sir Thomas had still not signed the Oath and due to the King's happiness of a son growing in his wife's belly, the Oath was forgotten by everyone but Cromwell. As long as Sir Thomas roamed the Court untamed and allowed to rant and preach his Catholic beliefs, the Reformation would not move. As long as Sir Thomas declared support for Catherine of Aragon and Princess Mary, Cromwell's hard work in the last couple of years would have been for nothing.

He invited Sir Thomas to dinner one evening.

Needless to say, Sir Thomas greeted him with suspicion.

"I must apologise to you, old friend," began Cromwell, offering him the best chicken. "The Boleyns have blinded me in their reformist ideas, and due to that, I have strayed from the true faith and lost all my old friends and colleagues. All except you."

"God will forgive those who confess," said Sir Thomas expectedly.

"Indeed, indeed. That I am planning to do tomorrow morning. For now, I have called you here to discuss some important matters. I should have listened to you months ago when the Princess Royal and the 1st Marquess of Ormond married. You tried to prevent their match, and I did nothing to stop you. I should have agreed with you back then."

"What has happened while I was gone from Court?"

"The Princess Royal is pregnant with Boleyn's child."

"No!" His eyes widened in shock and horror. "You jest, Cromwell! And not very amusing! The Princess Royal cannot be pregnant!"

"Why not? She and the Marquess have consummated their marriage, and it is only natural for them to be expecting their first child."

"This must be stopped!"

"Exactly! I have thought of a solution." Cromwell's eyes gleamed.

Sir Thomas raised an eyebrow. "I am not one for plotting."

"Think of it as, rescuing the Princess from George Boleyn," suggested Cromwell. "Let us say that the Princess happens to have a stillborn infant and is desolate. Boleyn can pretend as much as he likes that he is delighted at his wife's pregnancy, but instead, fears it, as it can ruin his sister's social standing, as she is not yet with child. If the King finds out, he will have no choice but execute Boleyn. You have a chance to propose for the Princess Royal to marry the Spaniard you always wanted her to marry. Do you not think it is a perfect plan, Sir Thomas?"

It wouldn't hurt that Sir Thomas didn't know the Queen was already with child...

"What do I have to do?" inquired Sir Thomas, who could not believe his dreams of puling the Princess from a pit of unhappiness was closer to fulfilment.

"I will procure a special herb for you," whispered Cromwell. "It is called 'snakeroot' and old crones are said to have used it to help the child come out when they are delayed. Crush it and slip it in the Princess Royal's goblet of ale, and all will be done by nature. As we are allies and both on the side of the true religion, you have no fear of being caught. I can organise a time where you have the chance to put it in her cup. If we do it right and in the precise moment, no one can ever suspect us. Besides, you are known to be Catherine of Aragon and Princess Mary's strongest supporter-along with Chapuys-and you have no motive for making her lose the child."

Sir Thomas nodded, more determined than before.

If treason was needed to rescue the Princess from Boleyn's clutches, so be it. He had once sworn to die for the Princess if needed, and he was willing to live by it.

No one can be more loyal to their causes than him. If losing a child was all it takes to save Princess Mary, steer her back to her destiny and place a true smile on Catherine's face, he was willing to be the knight in shining armour to commit the deed.

Cromwell studied him, not believing the piece of good fortune in the form of his worst enemy.

Sir Thomas always preached not to trust a worst nemesis.

What a hypocrite!

_The treatment in the Tower must've impacted him badly_, Cromwell thought. _The old Sir Thomas More would never have listened to me at all, but this humanist in front of me? He doesn't know how to distinguish between truth and lies anymore! Poor Catherine. She would weep a river of tears if she sees her old friend in such a state! _

"Fine," said Sir Thomas, glancing around cautiously before returning his attention to Cromwell. "What do I have to do?"

* * *

**I'm sick, so the chapter probably reflects it. Next chapter, Anne will transform into the kind woman that she is, and hopefully both pregnancies will last well! I have nothing against Thomas More, but in this fanfic, he is just convenient in political schemes. I'm sorry to those who don't like the strong devoutness of the religious figures but it won't last forever. Read and review! :) **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

**February, 1531 **

Mary's pains had began early in at the crack of dawn. She screamed with excruciating pain as the midwives were hurriedly summoned.

"It's too early..." moaned Mary.

George waited with the King and Anne outside, desperately wishing he was permitted to enter Mary's chambers, to hold her hand and say everything is alright. His fingers twitched as he began pacing anxiously around, each scream piercing his heart.

Inside, Mary pushed and screamed, wanting it all to be over. She had no chance to wonder how her mother managed to survive through this painful ordeal.

Hours passed.

An infant's cry rose.

Darkness.

After what seemed like eternity, her vision blurred and slowly cleared. Mary rubbed her eyes and sat up, pain stabbing her like a dozen knives. George sat on a chair beside her, expressionless. The King and Anne stood at the end of her bed, equally without emotion. What on earth is going on...? What are they doing here? Suddenly, her mind cleared.

"My baby?" she said weakly. "Where is he?"

"It was a girl," said the King tightly. "A weak one too."

"We named her 'Jane'," added Anne, a tinge of smugness returning. "She was too weak and feeble to be given a strong name like 'Katherine'."

"Where is she?" repeated Mary, her strength restoring sluggishly. "Where is my baby?"

No one answered. A terrible fear settled on her shoulders.

"She...is with God now," said George finally. "You were still unconscious, and I thought you...wouldn't want a frail daughter named after your mother. I agreed with Anne. You were unconscious for two days, and little Jane died a few hours after we named her. The physicians said that she was prematurely born and didn't have the strength to live. We will always have other children, Mary. Losing one child doesn't mean you will lose all your children..."

Haughtily, Anne caressed her pregnancy bump.

George wanted to strangle her.

Depressed, Mary stared at her hands and her empty stomach.

She lost the child...

"Seems like you have a wife incapable of having children," smirked Anne, tossing her head. "Those Spaniards have no gift for having living sons. God, Mary. You inherited more than your stubbornness from your useless mother."

Suddenly, pain seared through her.

She gasped, as her water broke.

Anne was hurried into the next room and the exhausted midwives were sent there immediately. The King and George shared a confused glance, before the King went outside to wait for the healthy cry of his son. George edged closer to Mary.

"I wasn't stressed," said Mary tearfully. "I am so sorry George! Your father, your uncle, the King and probably you, all expected me to have a living child. I am living up to the reputation of my mother in childbearing. I don't know what happened-"

The door banged open and Chapuys walked speedily in, limping badly.

"Your Highness," he said promptly with a bow. "Lord Ormond. I heard the babe was a girl and died hours after her birth. What happened?"

"It is misfortunate," replied George mournfully. "However, it is to be expected."

"No! The Princess is healthy and the child was promised to be strong! What happened, Princess? A premature labour does not occur suddenly! It can happen if she catches you having an affair with a mistress, or a sudden shock. Princess, were you poisoned? Tell me everything you did yesterday, from when you woke up till your water broke."

"With all due respect, ambassador, you cannot just ask the Princess that. Especially at a time like this,

when she had just went through quite an ordeal. Perhaps tomorrow, or at a later date when she is up for proper conversation or-"

"Lord Ormond! Do you not find it odd that the Queen has also suddenly went into labour a few days after your wife?"

"I admit it is strange, but-"

"Princess. What happened?"

The two of them looked at Mary.

"I went to Mass," said Mary slowly, creasing her forehead as she took a journey in memory lane. "In the morning as usual, and then I broke my fast with my usual morning meal of bread, butter, ham and a cup of ale. Very simple, but I prefer simplicity to a complex feast. Then I went for a light walk around the gardens, went in the library and read a book. Then I was served another meal of apples and oranges and went for a game of cards with Queen Anne. We are still trying to get along, and managed to stay cordial throughout the entire two hours of playing cards and discussing baby names. In a way, it was a success. After that, it was supper with the King, Queen and my husband, and then I retired early to bed and woke up when I felt pain and my water broke..."

"How can she be poisoned?" said George quizzically. "I admire your determination to point the finger at someone, but why can't you accept that it is pure coincidence that both she and the Queen have premature labours within days of each other? It is possible."

Poison...echoed in Mary's mind. Is it possible?

"We can knock Anne from the suspects," she said helpfully. "If you are right and I was poisoned, then Anne was poisoned too. That can explain why she suddenly went into labour. Sorry George, but Chapuys seems to have a strong belief in this."

George sighed and nodded.

"Only a heretic will want you and your child dead," deducted Chapuys. "But I find the bigger question is why poison Queen Anne? Wouldn't the heretic be happy that she is with child? The prince that will firmly plant England as Protestantism? Either it is an accident or deliberate. If she wanted to poison you, she would not have poisoned herself. Especially when she is pregnant."

"Cromwell?" George put forward. "He is one of the firmest Protestants in England, but I doubt he will poison Anne. He had rose in favour because of her."

"Anyone else?"

"Cranmer?"

"He is Archbishop of Canterbury. Even though he is a heretic, I doubt he will break his priestly vows and act so heinously. What about your uncle, the Duke of Norfolk?"

"He does seem the type to hire a man to poison Mary, but he wouldn't dare poison her now. Especially with Anne pregnant-well, giving birth now. What if someone deliberately poisoned both Anne and Mary, to kill them and the babes in their wombs?"

"Who would hate both the Princess and the Queen?"

George shrugged.

"The King must be told," he said flatly. "We cannot let this go on."

Mary and Chapuys nodded in agreement.

"We will tell him once Anne has given birth," George decided. "Mary, you should stay here and rest. I want you fully recovered and well. The King and my father will expect us to try again for a child in a day or two, but I think you are not ready yet. I keep forgetting you are only fifteen. I think we should try again in a year or two. When your body is maturely ready."

Mary nodded soberly.

Her mother would have said the same thing.

"I shouldn't have bedded you," muttered George, looking away from her. "It wasn't right. We should have waited and you wouldn't be in this situation..."

"It's not your fault!" said Mary at once. "We would have had to consummate our marriage sooner rather than later! The King and your father would have insisted on it!"

The three of them-Chapuys, Mary and George-continued discussing possible motives and potential suspects as Anne continued labouring in the next room, her screams piercing their conversations every minute or so in the passing hours. It wasn't long before their talks softened and Mary slowly drifted off to a long-sought for sleep. Chapuys nodded at George and left, leaving him alone with a sleeping Mary. George kissed her forehead and went outside.

"There you are," said Norfolk behind him. "Where were you? Anne has given birth!"

"A prince?" said George, alert.

"Yes," said Norfolk, with a twisted smile. "A Tudor prince. They have named him Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall. At least she had a son, unlike your wife who could only bear a puny daughter. Unfortunately for us, Prince Edward is weak. He had not inherited Anne or the King's strong constitution for some odd reason. Come and say hello to your nephew."

Obediently, George went into Anne's chambers.

Her triumphant smile was all that was needed.

"I have a son!" she crowed. "A Tudor prince! An heir of England! God bless Prince Edward! He will be raised the the King's faith and will be his son through and through!"

"Indeed," said the King, his eyes glistening with tears, as he held baby Prince Edward in his arms. "You have kept your word, Anne. You have indeed given England a true prince! He will be the greatest prince in all the world, and everyone will remember his mother!"

George smiled and cheered alongside the courtiers half-heartedly.

God had played a cruel trick; ripping joy from Mary and gifting it to Anne.

"I was thinking of godparents," said Anne, her eyes still shining with happiness. "I want the Duchess of Lancaster to be godmother."

"What?" said the King, George and Norfolk in unison.

"I want the Duchess of Lancaster to be godmother," said Anne sweetly. "It will appease the Spaniards and can be a sign of…reconciliation between us."

Reconciliation?! George thought, attempting not to snort with contempt. In what way is that a sign of compromising? You are insulting her! The Spaniards will be more than furious, and I won't be surprised if they continue forging that alliance with France!

Norfolk had an expression between a frown and a smile.

"Very well!" said the King, kissing Prince Edward's forehead. "The Duchess of Lancaster it is! We will ask the King of France to be godfather as planned. You must rest, dear Anne. Rest. I will see you after you have a good, long sleep. Norfolk, let us go and announce the news! At least we know that it isn't my Tudor stock that prevents the production of princes." The last was a deliberate insult to poor Mary, who slept fitfully in the next room.

"Do you believe me now, George?" said Anne, watching her brother sit down. "I told you a hundred times that I am capable of bearing the King's sons, and here is my proof! Yes, Prince Edward isn't as healthy as I wanted him to be, but at least he is a boy."

"Are you happy that my daughter is dead?" said George quietly.

Anne shook her head.

"Really?" said George, arching an eyebrow.

"Is Norfolk still lurking around?" she said softy.

Suspiciously, George went and opened the door. He poked his head out and closed the door. "There is no one there. Not even Norfolk."

Anne nodded, with a sigh.

"I feel sorry for her," she confessed, pulling a random strand of hair behind her ear. "I hate myself sometimes. Norfolk told me to be as heartless and hateful I can be to her. He wants me to destroy her. He told me to do that after his spies told him you had fallen in love with her or something. He said if I don't, he will 'unmake' me as queen and stamp on me. He said he will replace me with a more 'suitable and obedient' Howard girl. At first, I truly hated Mary, but after those card games when we talked, I couldn't find myself hating her as much."

"You were acting?" said George, taken back. "Since when?!"

"When I discovered she was pregnant. If Mary lost the child, I would never forgive myself. I named her 'Jane', because I truly believed she wouldn't live through infancy. I thought Mary would prefer her mother's name given to a stronger daughter than a feeble one. I thought if Jane did, I would ask Mary if she wanted to change her daughter's name. Do you believe me, George? Playing the role of the hating queen was not hard. I was never liked by the people before my marriage."

"Acknowledge Mary."

"What? She isn't a bastard!"

"I want to truly believe you, but you have to do something to prove it. Show the prince to the people after his christening, and announce him as heir to England, and say that if you have a daughter, Mary (daughter of your predecessor, Queen Catherine of Aragon) will remain ahead of her in the line of succession. Do that, and I will be your devoted brother again." He gave her a serious nod before a roguish wink he often did as a bachelor.

"I will," said Anne, determined to win back her brother as an ally. "Tell Mary I am sorry, will you? I don't think i can face her...now."

* * *

Anne's triumphant moment did not last long.

Like little Jane Boleyn, her beloved prince died hours after his birth, managing to live through his christening, but joining God before he could be presented to the people.

Devastation hit Anne like a knife through her stomach.

Norfolk and Wiltshire were furious.

"Your son is dead!" raged Wiltshire. "You lost my grandson! Now you are in the same boat as Catherine of Aragon! Possible even worse! How long do you think you can hold the King's attention for? Another year or two? Hmm? It won't be long before he is bored for you and you may find yourself walking to your own grave! What is wrong with you?! Are you incapable of having a surviving son?!"

"It was one child!" snapped Anne, flaring up. "It wasn't my fault he had a frail constitution! If you are a woman, you would understand the pain I have to go through! You speak as if pregnancy is painless and quick, but you have no idea how much it hurts!"

"We suffer in war, you suffer in childbirth!" growled Norfolk, slamming his fist down on the table. "I will not have you speaking to me in that tone! You may be queen, but at the moment, you are still the same Boleyn girl you were before your marriage!"

"Perhaps we should give her another chance?" said George tentatively.

Both men swung around and stared at him.

"Another chance?" repeated Norfolk, as if he heard the most stupid matter in the whole world. "Why on earth would I do that? Every year that passes, the King ages. Soon he will be incapable of siring children all together! There are plenty of prettier, more compliant Howard girls to choose from! Why should we wait for Anne to fail again?"

"The King will try again," replied George. "Both Princess Mary and Anne have given birth to children who died within hours of each other. The King has nothing to complain about. Anne is still young, and she has already proved she can have sons. It isn't her fault that Prince Edward died. He might have caught a chill and died before medicine can be administered to him."

Wiltshire nodded slowly, his frown disappearing.

"One more chance," he warned Anne. "If you do not provide England with an heir within two years, your tenure as queen is over. I sometimes wonder why the King didn't marry our Mary. She certainly has more beauty than you, and would never had addressed his superiors in such a fashion you do! By God! If he married Mary, he would've already had a son! If needed, I will annul her marriage with Carey and she will replace you as queen."

Anne swallowed.

Nothing could have frightened her more than that.

Ever since they were children in Hever Castle, there was always some sort of rivalry between the two young Boleyn girls. Whether it was vying for attention, riding horses or answering questions in the school room, competition existed between the fair and the dark Boleyn girls. Of course Anne won the majority of challenges and the school room was her palace; her cleverness and sharp wit surpassed both Lady Mary and George with ease.

Even as Norfolk and Wiltshire schemed to replace her with her own harmless, ambitionless and

complacent sister, Anne felt threatened and pressured. She never liked a serious rival in the field of love.

Especially when the prize was the King.

Muttering an apology, Anne left, looking defeated. No matter how high she rose, her spirits were always dragged down by Norfolk and her father.

"Queen Anne." She looked around, dazed from her thoughts, and saw Princess Mary walking in line beside her from nowhere.

"Princess Mary," said Anne, the smugness disappearing from her tone. "What do you want?"

"To offer my condolences," said Mary truthfully.

"Of what? Should you not be happy that my son is dead? You are still the heir."

"Why would I be happy that my half-brother is at God's side? He may be your son, but he was still my half-brother. It is unfortunate we both failed our husbands with living children. At least yours was a son, before God took him. I will not suspect you for poisoning me and you will not suspect me for attempting to poison you. We are equal."

"I suppose you are right." She gave Mary a genuinely shy smile. "To be honest, you would've been the first person I would have suspected if you hadn't lost the child. What are you doing here? Did George leave you alone for once?"

"Your father did not wish to discuss 'family matters' with me in presence."

"Typical of him. I am sorry for your loss too. For everything. For pushing your mother from her position as queen, for marrying your father, for hating you-"

"It wasn't your fault. I would've said it was many years ago, but after my loss of Jane...I felt like we have common ground, and my childhood has literally faded away. You were only protecting your virtue-in a rather ambitious manner if you don't mind me saying-and you did try to be friendly once, but I brushed you off. I inherited my mother's stubbornness, and I refused to see the truth. The King no longer loved my mother and England needed a son. We are now related through marriage. I suppose it is time we work together like family members?"

Anne nodded, and held out her hand.

No longer hesitating as she would've done, Mary shook it with a bright grin.

"Do you think your mother will forgive me?" said Anne timidly. She was glad all was well between her and Mary, but a part of her nagged for Catherine's forgiveness.

"Perhaps later," advised Mary. "Chapuys informs me that her health was not as well as it was before, and she had turned for the worse. He tells me not to worry and will write to me if she...gets better or even worse than she is now. She has accepted George as her son-in-law, but as for you...I think it may take some time. I don't know how long it will take though."

Anne nodded.

Everything takes time.

"Do you find it odd?" said Anne, pouring Mary a cup of ale as they entered her chambers. "Both of us were with child at the same time, and we had premature labour the same time too. What a coincidence, don't you think?! One of God's cruel jokes I suppose."

"Indeed," agreed Mary, taking it.

As she held it, flashes of memories projected in her mind.

Crash!

All of Anne's ladies looked up as the goblet slipped through Mary's pale fingers, the liquid substance of ale spilling all over her new gown.

"Mary! Are you alright?" said Anne, concerned. "Nan-" She turned to her chief lady-in-waiting, Mistress Anne 'Nan' Saville. "Go and fetch either Dr Linacre or Dr Butts. Whichever one is closest and not busy attending to a patient. If they are both attending to the ill, tell the closer one that the Princess Royal has suddenly fallen ill. Go!"

"No," said Mary, placing a hand on a chair to steady herself. "Mistress Saville, do not bother. Return to your sewing. Please. Her Majesty is too caring. It was a fright. Nothing more. I just remembered something I had not thought about before."

"Very well," said Anne, nodding at Mistress Saville to resume sewing. She steered Mary into her own private rooms, shooing a couple of maids away in the process. "That was not nothing, Mary. I know nothing. You say you remember something? Was it something traumatic that caused you to drop the goblet? You can tell me. On my life, I swear I will not tell Norfolk or my father. As childbirth has changed you, it has changed me."

"Mood swings and cramps, Anne."

Anne looked at her in confusion.

"We both had it," said Mary distantly. "Well, I had the cramps and you had the mood swings during our pregnancies. Remember when you threw a goblet at your father? Mood swings. We were given a remedy from herbs. I remember a few days after I had taken the draft, I felt nauseous-as nauseous as I was in the morning I discovered I was pregnant-and had horrible headaches. I know it is a few months back, but what about you? Did you feel anything...different?"

"Headaches," said Anne, frowning as she thought back. "Oh my...I thought it was natural in pregnancies to feel a little ill...do you think it was the herbs?"

Mary nodded.

"Someone wants us both dead..." whispered Anne, terrified and angry. "God...whoever it is, he or she will pay for it! Who do you think should investigate this secretly?"

Mary and Anne looked at each other.

Only one man is capable of manipulation, coercion and extracting answers with secrecy.

A man Mary had loathed.

Thomas Cromwell.

* * *

**Now that Anne and Mary have something in common, will they grow closer? :) I'm still sick unfortunately, but I won't let sickness stop me from writing this story! Any further ideas, let me know :) Please read and review! **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

**July, 1532**

Cromwell's secret investigations dragged on for two years, a suspect unfound, to both Mary and Anne's bitter disappointments.

That was a matter the two women staunchly agreed on.

During the year, the King had set off for France with strong hopes of recapturing towns and earn the reputation of warrior king, a title he had dreamed of since his childhood. Anne's stomach remained flat, while Mary's expanded. It wasn't long before she gave birth to a healthy boy (Wiltshire immediately named him 'Thomas' after himself) and Anne became the target of scrutiny both in private and in public. People began wondering if she was capable of siring a child.

There worries increased when little Thomas mysteriously died, in much similar fashion as his elder sister, little Jane Boleyn.

Mary suspected it was the herbs again.

George's concern for his wife grew.

"I am worried about her," he confided in Chapuys. "Our son was perfectly healthy when he was born, and we were confident he would live. Was it the herbs again? Did that stop Anne from even becoming pregnant when Mary did?"

"I don't think so," said Chapuys sadly. "I had people watch both the Princess Royal and the Queen every day, and there wasn't any time for the herbs to be put in either of their drinks. It was something else. The King has not been told, in fear of earning his disappointment. My birds told me that Norfolk had not informed the King either. For once, we are in agreement."

George nodded uncertainly.

That year, Mary received word that her mother was critically ill.

She instantly left for Lancaster Castle, a residence the King bestowed upon Catherine when he granted her title of 'duchess of Lancaster'.

Anne accompanied her against Norfolk's wishes.

"You should have stayed at Hampton Court," said Mary, when Anne entered the carriage. "My mother may not react well to your presence. She may think you are flaunting your youth and vitality in front of her or something. Sorry for the pessimism."

"I understand her suspicion," said Anne patiently. "I will try my best to avoid displaying my youth and vitality as you say. I told you a million times that I want to earn your mother's forgiveness, and whatever she wishes me to do, I will do so."

"Within reason of course."

"Yes. How ill is she?"

"To an extent. I cannot say how ill, as I only heard it from Maria de Salinas. A word of warning, Maria de Salinas still does not accept you as queen. It has been a while, but she will always believe my mother to be the only queen of England."

"Thank you for the warning, Mary. She always gave me the nastiest looks whenever we meet. How did your mother find a friend in her?"

She meant it in a jesting manner, but Mary did not find it amusing.

"Maria was raised alongside my mother in their childhood," said Mary, more coldly than she had been to Anne in a while. "Even though my mother had three sisters and a brother, she was still closer to Maria than she was with her siblings. When she was in the depths of despair, Maria was there for her while other ladies scrambled away. Isn't loyalty what you want from your friends?"

"I am sorry," said Anne, embarrassed from her comment. "I always spoke out my mind. I guess I should curb it properly once and for all. Promise me one thing, Mary. When we see your mother, do not defend me. Please. I will take on the blame. All of it."

"Why?" Curiosity had overtaken iciness.

"I made your mother miserable and had ignored it for many years, even though it sliced through my heart like a knife. I tried to make peace, but it never work. If she wishes to strike at me, I am willing to allow her to do so. I wrote her many letters, all of which were burnt before I sent them. I have a shield, and it is crumbling away. I am a frightened coward, that is all. All I ever wanted was to be the star of court, whether I was a duchess, countess, baroness, I never thought a queen. I am too big a coward that I even want the forgiveness of the woman who I pushed aside."

"We are all frightened, Anne."

"If your mother doesn't forgive me, my life is over! I am not exaggerating Mary! There are matters I wish I can tell you!"

"Why can't you?"

Anne said nothing.

"You don't trust me?" guessed Mary. "As far as you know, I can still hate you and all the kind conversations we had could just be a ruse."

A nod.

"Once we have our sons, we will all relax," said Mary, wondering if Anne would ever confide her deepest secrets to her and vice versa. "I am grateful that you can come with me though. I am always happy to have company."

* * *

The siege at Picardy was going well for the King and his English troops. They had already took over the town of Arras and once Picardy was theirs, the decision of progressing towards Normandy or Reims would be crucially needed.

The King had written many letters to Anne, and every letter he received from her was as precious as a jewel, or a gold coin in his treasury.

He hoped she would bring news of pregnancy.

The thought of it worried him.

What if he died in France?

Mary will be queen regnant with George as her consort, but what will happen to Catherine and Anne's positions? Catherine could claim the rights of being queen mother while Anne could declare herself legally the queen dowager! There would be no question whose side Spain and Italy would support. Even in England, at least half the population preferred Catherine over Anne.

"Your Majesty," said Suffolk, emerging in the tent, muddy and sweaty but with a broad smile on his face. "The last of the Picardy walls have fallen, and the majority of towns have surrendered! One or two have declared support for King Francis I of France, but they won't last long! What are your orders? Burn the rebellious towns or proceed to a different direction?"

"Picardy is ours?" said the King, not believing his ears.

"Yes, Your Majesty! We have captured Picardy!"

"I must write the good news to the Queen and Mary! Raid the rebellious towns for anything of value and gold. That is all. No raping and no killing. As for you, I want you and a few soldiers to gather all the townspeople from all over Picardy into the main square and declare that as they surrendered peacefully, there will be no bloodshed. The mayor of Picardy will remain in his appointed position, but a battalion of English soldiers will stay here in order to prevent Picardy being brought back to France. From this day forth, it is English soil! They will give us all their gold, and will start anew, as a region of England. They will use English currency, learn English and learn our ways. If they resist, bloodshed will occur. Tell them that for me, Suffolk. I will send more fresh troops East to Rouen. If it is an easy victory, we will proceed to take Normandy. Once all the gold is gathered, I want you to return to England."

"Return to England, Your Majesty?"

"You are my best friend, and one of the few I can trust with my life. Go back to England on the fastest ship and rally more troops with the gold. The more the better. Once you gathered a new army, half of you will go through Picardy while the other half will seek passage through Flanders and Hainault (under the rule of Charles V) and together, attack and conquer Reims."

Suffolk nodded, impressed at the King's military strategy.

"What about your safety?" he said, concerned.

"I have other men around me!" said the King merrily. "Go on! Tell the soldiers what to do. The quicker we push France to its knees, the better! I for one, wish to be back in England before Christmas! I hope by then, the Queen will present me a son as a gift! Why do you think she does not write about being with child to me, Suffolk? She is not a woman to keep secrets this important! The last time she was pregnant, she told me at once! Why nothing about it now? Do you think she wants it to be a surprise? I have to say, she isn't doing a good job hiding it from me!"

"Perhaps Your Majesty is just too clever?"

"Seriously Charles! Why would a woman keep a secret back?"

"As you said, she may want to keep it a surprise for you. Or maybe she speaks truth and is not with child. Are you suspecting her of something else, Your Majesty?"

"Of course not! I only wish I had a living son. I married Catherine, and she gave me nothing but a daughter. Now I married Anne, and she gave me a son that only lived a day. Am I cursed in having stillborns and girls? Even you have a son!"

"Perhaps God wants you to conquer France, and then he will gift you a son?"

The King nodded thoughtfully.

It made sense...

"France will be ours!" he declared rashly. "From now to the end of time! I will crush Francis I to a pulp and make him beg on his knees for mercy before decapitating him myself! Once I am crowned the king of France in Reims, God will give me a healthy son!"

Suffolk nodded enthusiastically.

"God save you, Your Majesty!" he said loyally.

There was a sudden commotion and two soldiers entered, dragging a struggling girl, cursed words flying from her mouth.

"What is this?" said the King, frowning deeply.

"We found her creeping around camp with a dagger," said one gruffly. He tossed an intricately designed dagger onto the table.

"Well..." mused the King, picking it up and studying it. "My, a good design! Only wealthy people can afford daggers such like this. Tell me girl, where did you get this? Did you steal it?"

In response, the girl spat at his feet.

"Fiery tempered, aren't we?" chuckled the King. "Let us try again. _Qui etes-vous? Ai-je fait quelque chose pour vous offenser?_"

Who are you? Suffolk thought, bewildered. What have I done to offend you? By God, Your Majesty! She is a Frenchwoman! She is your prisoner! Why are you asking her these questions?!

"_Je suis la femme du maire!_" snarled the struggling girl. "_Vous avez tue mon mari!_"

"You are the mayor's wife?" said Suffolk, surprised.

Her sharp, blue eyes swivelled over to him. "_Oui monsieur_."

"You speak English?" said the King and Suffolk in unison.

"Why are you not answering my questions in English?!" demanded the King. "It will save so much time you bitch! What is your name?!"

"_Nous sommes en France_," said the girl boldly. "_Je suis Madame Isabelle de Luil_."

"We are in_ France!_" said the King, with a harsh laugh. "Not anymore, Lady Isabelle de Luil! This is English soil! You say you are the widow of the mayor, eh? Well! Which one of us killed him?! Come on! The mayor must have fought against us! Which one was he? The chubby one who struggled to put on his armour? Or was he the brave one running out screaming with his sword?"

"You killed him," she said sharply in broken English with a strong French accent. "He was the first man that you killed when you set foot in Picardy. Now you left me a widow and his children without a father. He was a good man, monsieur le king. Everybody loved him. If you had not foolishly rushed into battle, he would have surrendered peacefully! You say you want it to be peaceful, but you came sword first! We do not even like Francis I! If you asked for surrender, we would have done so willingly! Now you ruined our lands and killed a just man with many others! You are not a king of peace! You have tasted battle and you like it! You have stained this land with blood!" She spat at him again.

"You do that again, I will cut out your tongue," threatened Suffolk. "Beg for forgiveness!"

The bold Isabelle de Luil only laughed. "Oh monsieur! You do not have enough courage for that! Who do you think invented that punishment? Us Frenchmen of course!"

"Enough, Suffolk," said the King, strangely calm about the words Isabelle lashed at him. "Go and

what I had instructed. Soldiers, go back to the others. Leave this...rebellious French prisoner with me."

The soldiers shoved Isabelle on the ground and left.

"You are not afraid of me," said the King, circling her. "As the mayor's widow, you can be very...ah, useful to me. To your family, you will be a valuable prize. Well, well...not so high and mighty now, are you, girl? Are you afraid yet?"

"Of you?" laughed Isabelle, almost seductively. "Why on earth will I be afraid of you?! I met men twice as fierce and demanding as you, and they are not even kings!"

The King stared at her, his heart beating quicker.

She was so like Anne, yet not like Anne at the same time! Before he realised what he was doing, he had bedded the feisty Isabelle de Luil, widow of the first man he killed in Picardy.

* * *

It was as if God granted the King's wish. A few weeks before Christmas, all the Norman lands between Picardy and the Seine River had fallen.

As Christmas approached, Francis I asked for a peace treaty of three months in order to celebrate Christmas festivities. Henry VIII obliged and began preparations to return to England, planning to station English soldiers in conquered territory for the duration of the celebrations. He would not risk everything he fought for to be lost.

He also decided to take his new lover, Isabelle, with him.

Ever since he married Anne, he had remained faithful to her (even though his eyes had strayed) until the day Isabelle showed up in chains. He felt himself harden as the image of Isabelle bound in chains appeared in his mind, along with her beautiful blue eyes...

"You want to take me back to England?" repeated Isabelle, once he told her the news. "As what? Your prisoner-of-war? Your conquest? To prove you are Emperor Augustus of Rome and I am Cleopatra Selene in your march of triumph?"

"I would love that," said the King, dreaming of placing the French nobles in chains. "However, no. I am planning to take you as a...guest. Your son is now in name the mayor of Picardy, and to ensure peace, you will be my guest in England."

"Guest? Politically...or for other purposes?" She gave him a sly smile.

"Um...politically of course!"

"I have news for you."

"What? Your son has decided to side with the French all of a sudden?"

"I am four months pregnant."

The King stared at her, speechless. His heart fluttered with joy and fear as he swallowed the news. He was going to be a father!

What would Anne say?!

"That is wonderful news!" the King managed to say. "It is marvellous! We will have a child together! You will have the finest midwives attending to you! Once the child reaches eighteen, I will make him the Regent of Picardy, and he will rule on behalf of me! He will carry my name and I will legitimise him! If Parliament agrees, I will place all your children in the line of succession behind all my children and legitimate descendants! They will continue the Tudor name!"

Isabelle's eyes widened.

She had heard of the English King's infamous deeds and his marital problems. He had professed his love to a Spanish Infanta, only to repudiate her and tear a kingdom in half for a mere daughter of a knight whom he declared his love too!

Will he divorce his wife for her?

Her son may be the future king of England!

"I will be mother of kings?" she said, pretending not to understand.

"Not um...exactly," said the King, with a nervous laugh. "If the Council agrees, you will be mother of Tudors. Your son may have a chance of being king."

"I won't be mother of kings?" said Isabelle, pretending to be gravely offended. "What will I be then? Just a mistress you will toss aside? You will forget about me once you arrive in England! I heard that the English flowers are very beautiful. What will happen to me then? I will be shamed if I return here, and I will be alone in England! I will be ruined!"

"That will never happen, dear-"

"Do not 'dear' me, monsieur King! I will rather be the true wife of a farmer than a toy to a proud king with hundreds of women at his feet!"

"Just come with me to England, Isabelle! I will arrange everything and you will be treated like a princess, on my word of honour!"

"Not a princess. A queen."

Deciding that Isabelle was not fluent enough to understand, he nodded, planning to lavish her in jewels and riches once they arrive in England. He wondered what would happen if Isabelle gave birth to a healthy son. Would he acknowledge the child as he did to Henry Fitzroy? Would he persuade the Council to legitimise him fully?

For once, the King wished Isabelle was pregnant with a daughter. If it was a girl, it would be so much easier. He could send her as a ward to Suffolk's household and marry her off to a powerful nobleman who is willing to have a royal bastard as his wife.

To many, it was an honour.

"Come," said the King, offering her his arm. "You are my _reine de Picardie_. You board the royal barge with me, I promise you will be treated like a queen. You were the mayor's wife and accustomed to respect and good treatment. You will be treated well again, as my guest. I vow that as long as you live in England, you will be under my protection. No one will dare hurt or insult my _reine de Picardie_. If you sever all ties with France, you and your family will be richly rewarded."

"I must see my children," she said, pleased at being called reine de Picardie. "They must understand the reasons for my departure to England."

The King nodded and summoned her three children; ten year old Francois (the mayor of Picardy under the regency of his uncle), nine year old Eleanore and eight year old Diane, all three of them looking suspiciously at him.

Their distrust melted as they saw their mother.

"Mama!" cried Diane, embracing her tightly. "We thought you were dead!"

The King's heart almost melted with love as he saw Isabelle hug her daughter back. He remembered the maternal nature Catherine had towards Mary and wondered if Anne would be motherly towards their future children. He smiled indulgently as Isabelle ruffled Francois's head.

"I will be going to England," Isabelle told them. "You three will stay here under the protection of your uncle and aunt. I will be back when you all grow up. Your cousins will be with you okay? We will write to each other as well. I will miss you, but it is for our own good and the future of our family. Francois, be brave and protect your sisters."

Francois nodded, swallowing down tears.

Now that his father is dead, he is the man of the family.

His sisters need him more than ever.

"Why are you going to England?" said Eleanore tearfully. "It is so far! Papa always said the King of England is a monster to our good King Francis!"

"I found a way to improve our fortunes," said Isabelle, glancing a little at the King, who restrained himself from laughter. "Picardy isn't in France anymore darling. It is in England. Your uncle and aunt will help Francois pick you a good husband, as you will not be a little girl forever. I must go. The ship is waiting for me. Be good children, will you?"

The three de Luil children nodded and waved as Isabelle followed the King towards the awaiting barge, his soldiers waiting for them.

Isabelle took a deep breath and boarded the ship.

"You will be my queen," the King whispered into her ear. "From here to Dover, you will be my one and only queen. Queen Isabelle." He raised his voice. "All cheer Queen Isabelle!"

"Queen Isabelle!" the English soldiers chorused instantly. "God bless Queen Isabelle!"

Sir Edward Seymour approached Suffolk subtly.

"Well, well," he murmured. "Queen Isabelle now, is it? First it was Queen Catherine, then Queen Anne

and now Queen Isabelle? My, my! Our King is a little rash in declaring his queens, isn't he? He seems to take a liking in noble women. First he marries a royal Spanish Infanta, then a English lady descended from merchants, and now a French commoner?"

"Do not worry, Seymour," said Suffolk, with a chuckle. "He isn't serious! He knows England will not have it if he divorces Anne and marries this girl. She is just a demanding mistress. Nothing more. Besides, he will tire of her eventually."

"How do you know?"

"Look at her stomach. She is pregnant. Once she has his bastard, he will acknowledge the child and discard her. Remember young Fitzroy's mother, Bessie Blount? This one's just like her. He may tire of her in a few days and let us bed her!"

The winds favoured them and they arrived in Dover in a few days.

Isabelle's heart pounded as the King took her hand.

"Come, my dear," he said kindly, gently leading her towards a group of finely dressed people. "It is time you meet my family."

In a matter of seconds, Isabelle found herself facing a tall, beautiful woman with raven black hair and black eyes, glittering like exquisite jewels.

"Isabelle, this is my wife," said the King, nodding to the woman in front of her. "Queen Anne. Anne, this is my new...companion, Madame Isabelle de Luil."

* * *

**In case you're worried, I will never replace Anne with an OC as queen. Will Anne and Mary be closer together with this new threat arising? ;) It's my birthday today...so review please? :) Thanks for the get well messages, as I am indeed better! :) **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

**April, 1533**

Every scream heard throughout the palace angered and made Anne wince. Never in her life did she expect a rival in any woman but Catherine.

Especially from a French peasant.

Anne herself was pregnant and was due in five months. She had every confidence it would be a boy, but the thought of her husband parading around court with a French lowlife irked her. Even Norfolk's threats took second place to the proud Frenchwoman.

She found Mary embroidering quietly in her usual seat by the window. She had no symptoms of pregnancy yet.

"Anne," said Mary, smiling as she saw her. "How are you today?"

"Tired," said Anne, rolling her eyes and taking a seat opposite her. "Irritated. I thought he would bring treasures back from France, but all he brings is a woman whom he had impregnated. I thought she would be a casual mistress, but now I doubt it. He is spending more time with her than with me, and now he is waiting outside her chambers like he did when I was giving birth to Edward and you were to Jane. What is it about her that attracts him?"

"She is bold? French?"

"That was what he found fascinating in me...can you do me a favour?"

"Um, sure. What do you want me to do?"

"Find out more about this Isabelle de Luil. Her background, marriage, status, everything. I want to know every secret about that bitch."

"Shouldn't you ask my brother to do that? Or any other Boleyn or Howard? I cannot go around snooping and eavesdropping for information."

"No, do not do that! I have Mistress Jane Parker doing that!"

"Then can you be more specific of what you want me to do?"

"Talk to her after she gives birth to a bastard. If she survives."

Mary shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" said Anne at once. "What is it Mary?! Tell me! I know we still do not trust each other, but whatever you want I will do!"

"You were resting when the King announced his decision," said Mary, avoiding Anne's gaze. "He said he will tell you, but later. Even the Council has agreed to it. I don't know why, but...they did. The King announced that Isabelle will be his Official Mistress. His Maitresse-en-titre. He also gave her the title 'Her Grace, the Duchess of Picardy' and always called her his 'reine de Picardie' and issued an official order, stating that all the children he has with her will be acknowledged."

"That...that isn't too bad...of course he must have mistresses..."

"The children will carry his name."

"What?!" The other ladies cringed as she screeched with rage. The door opened and George hurried in, concerned and alarmed.

"Out!" he barked at them.

Anne's ladies bobbed quick curtseys and departed, whispering to one another. George glanced at Mary and both of them turned their attention to Anne.

"What is it?" said George, concerned, as Anne began to weep and laugh hysterically.

"The King's new whore," sobbed Anne, with a high pitched giggle mixed with a tearful snort. "Have you heard? She is the King's _Maitresse-en-titre_ and her children will be Tudors too! My! What is it about her that attracts him? He didn't even give Bessie Blount's son the Tudor name! How on earth did the councillors agree to that?!"

George shifted uncomfortably.

"What?!" said Mary and Anne together.

"It gets worse," he said, with a sigh. "I don't know how to put it though...maybe we should wait until you have given birth to the child?"

"Why?" said Anne, a flash of panic striking across her face. "George! You're part of the council! Don't keep such important news from me! Please! How can I bear my son if the entire court knows something that may politically affect him! Mary! You too! You aren't cooped up indoors every day! Tell me this important news you are keeping back from me!"

"What if you...miscarry?" said George cautiously.

"That will only happen if I find out the news from the King at a terrible time! You are my brother, and Mary, you are my sister-in-law. We are family. Tell me."

"I...I don't think I should..."

"Do not make me order you George!"

"I'm sorry. The King needs me. I will tell you tonight. Maybe." George kissed her forehead, gave Mary a quick embrace and rushed out.

* * *

The Seymours huddled together as they watched George Boleyn hurry away from Lady Anne's chambers, Edward's eyes narrowing.

The two of them-Edward and his younger brother Thomas-slinked off to the small, plain Seymour rooms, located quite a distance away. They entered their father's study and found him (Sir John) writing a letter quietly, the scratching of his quill the only sound in the room.

"Sons," he said, glancing up. "What are you doing here at this time of day? Shouldn't you be off tending to the King's every needs? Entertaining him for one?"

"He has a new entertainer," said Edward, sitting down in front of him and pouring himself a cup of ale from the bottle on his father's desk. Sir John looked at him disapprovingly but said nothing. "Haven't you heard, father? The whore he brought back from France. Oh, what was her name? Elisabeth? Eleanore? I cannot remember."

"Isabelle de Luil," supplied Thomas helpfully.

"That was it," said Edward lazily, taking the letter from his father and scanning it quickly. "Isabelle, his '_reine de Picardie_'. Interesting pet name. She is his Official Mistress. Is it just me, or does our lusty king have a thing with French women? Our new...heh, queen, was raised in France, and now his favourite mistress is a French native! I heard she's a mayor's widow. What will he go for next? A whore from one of those French taverns?"

"Do not speak those words!" hushed Sir John, glancing apprehensively at the door. "I do not want to end up in the Tower! Do you?! Even if the King is merciful and releases us after a short stay there, I do not want to end up like Sir Thomas More!"

"You are too worried, father!"

"Rather be safe than sorry. You boys are too careless these days!"

"You are writing to the Queen, asking her to accept Jane, Elizabeth and Dorothy as her ladies? Since when do we kiss the feet of Boleyns?" He spat with a scowl.

"You are married to Mistress Anne Stanhope. As a man, you have better prospects than any of your sisters. Sir William Dormer's mother, Lady Dormer, had insisted for William to break his betrothal with our Jane, to marry Mistress Mary Sidney. According to her, our family is not 'good enough' for her precious son. I suppose Jane is a little plain, but she is our eldest. What hope is there for Elizabeth and Dorothy? We can't have three spinsters in the house! The girls need to be married off, and the only way they can do that is to attract suitors, and what better way than to serve as ladies?"

"I rather die than see my sisters serving that Boleyn on a bended knee."

"You may have to." Sir John chuckled at Edward's rashness. "If you do not like that idea, what do you propose? You have been in court. You too, Thomas. What do you reckon? The only way our prospects can rise is through good marriage or military and diplomatic services. The Marquess of Ormond has taken the diplomatic area, and Suffolk and the other war-hardened men, the military factor. That leaves us the marriage section. I will die happy if either Jane, Elizabeth or Dorothy marries a second or younger son of an earl! Come on sons. Suggestions?"

"Offer a large dowry?" suggested Thomas, without thinking.

"We do not have enough to supply even a moderate one," Sir John reminded him.

"One of them can be the King's mistress," said Edward thoughtfully. "The Queen was raised in France, and his newest favourite is French born. It is only right for us to do our duty to England and bring the King's heart back to England. Our girls are proper English maidens, not a tint of foreignness in them. None of them are as feisty as the '_reine de Picardie_' or the Queen either. Perhaps the King will appreciate being drawn back to the modesty and demureness of proper English ladies."

"What!" said Sir John, scandalised. "The King's mistress?!"

"Yes!" said Thomas eagerly. "Edward is right! The King will not dare plunge England into another civil war to divorce the Queen, but what if one of our girls is his mistress? They still profit well. Remember the Queen's sister, Mary Boleyn? Wasn't she the King's mistress? Her father was raised to a peerage and her husband knighted! We can do that too!"

"She will be ruined!" protested Sir John. "It doesn't matter about the profit! My daughter will be absolutely ruined!"

"The King will marry her off well," Edward pointed out. "He did to Bessie Blount."

"He married her off to a baron!"

"She is now Lady Elizabeth Clinton, Countess of Lincoln. It seems nobles are still interested in the King's former mistresses. What if that happens to one of the Seymour girls? Wouldn't it be your dream for one of your daughters to be a countess?"

"Well..."

"As you said, marriage through negotiations will not work. What other choice is there?"

"I suppose I will negotiate with-"

"Come, come, father. You will be taken to the grave faster the more you stress about it. Leave the matter to me. I will not allow the chosen girl to be deflowered so easily. I promise you that one of my sisters will marry into upper nobility."

Finally, Sir John relented.

He was too old and worn out for further argument.

"Which one of your sisters are you planning to sacrifice?" he said tiredly.

"I was thinking of Elizabeth," said Edward promptly. "However, if she does become his mistress, she will not last long. I will put her under the King's eye either way, but I will also push Jane forward. The King may prefer a more demure girl. Elizabeth is prettier, but Jane is the exact opposite of both Queen Anne and Isabelle de Luil. One way or another, he will fall in love with a Seymour girl."

"Not Dorothy?"

"There is nothing about her that will attract a king. She does not have the strikingly beautiful looks as Elizabeth, and she isn't as modest as Jane. All we can hope for Dorothy is that either Elizabeth or Jane will convince the King to find a suitable husband for her."

"Very well. I am thinking of retiring back to Wolf Hall. I find I do not have the strength to hunt with the King or do any activities you young people are capable of."

"When will you leave?"

"As soon as possible. When I am gone, you will be in charge of Seymour affairs here. I give you permission to use the girls and Thomas at your disposal." He ignored a protest from Thomas. "If matters concerning marriage appear, send them to me at once. I will still be responsible for giving them blessings like any father would."

Edward nodded, giving Thomas a nasty grin.

He loved being in charge.

Thomas scowled back at him.

He had no desire to be puppet to his elder brother.

"Excellent," said Sir John, stifling a yawn. "I must have a rest. My bones are not as strong as they were before. Give this to the King or Queen. If they agree, summon your sisters to court immediately. We do not have time to waste..."

"Yes," said Edward, nodding and standing up. "The longer we take with this, the more influence that French harlot has over the King. She is probably whispering in his ear as we speak. What if we convince him to continue the French battles? He can take his whore with him, but at least she wouldn't have a say in English politics here."

"Yes!" said Thomas enthusiastically. "We can succeed in the battlefield too!"

"Huh. I will not count on that, Thomas. The King may not even know who is dead soldiers are. He is too

busy talking to his closest pals and sleeping with that whore. I hope she dies in childbirth quickly."

"You support the Queen over her?"

"It pains me to say so, but yes. At least Anne Boleyn had a faint line of royal blood in her veins in comparison to that French whore."

"What is our first move now?"

"Our first move? I will take care of our dear sisters, and I want you to find yourself a wealthy wife in a week, and I expect her to be pregnant in a month. If you cannot find one, I will personally arrange a match for you, no matter whether it is to your satisfaction or not. Father wants us to rise at court, and we need more Seymours. The Boleyns and Howards spread like rabbits, and we do not. It is too late to wish we have children earlier, but it is never late to have children now."

"Do you doubt my, eh, roguishly handsome charms?" Thomas winked at Edward. "I will find myself a wife, plump with wealth in a matter of days! Father, stay a week more before I ask you for my blessing! I for one, do not want to waste a horse."

Sir John nodded, reaching for more ale.

"We will rise," said Edward, with a determined facial expression. "I promise by my grandfather's grave, our family will rise to greatness, and no one will forget our name."

* * *

The King entered Anne's chambers, his face shining with happiness. Anne glared back at him with tired, yet sharp eyes.

"You decide to visit me at last," said Anne coldly.

"Isabelle has given birth to a son," said the King, missing her cold tone. "We named him 'Guillame', after her late husband. As I killed him, I had to compensate for her loss. I would have preferred to give the boy the English version (William), but it is always good for him to remember his French roots. Lord Guillame Tudor. He will have a lavish christening. One almost as fancy as that of a Tudor prince! I expect you to be there. You will be godmother."

Anne shook with rage. "You expect me to be your bastard's godmother?! I am carrying YOUR HEIR, HENRY! I AM PREGNANT WITH YOUR CHILD, AND YOU WANT TO HUMILIATE ME BY STANDING AS GODMOTHER TO YOUR WHORE'S CHILD?!"

The King stared at her, befuddled.

"He is not a bastard," he said icily.

"What?" said Anne, taken back. "He is not my child, or a child of Catherine's. He is your son with that of your French mistress. What else can you describe him? Of course he is a bastard! What will his title be? _Le grand batard de Picardie?_ I am not surprised."

"I have legitimised him. Him and any other future children I happen to have with Isabelle. I am aware that you are carrying my child, but it is good to show all of England that you are a caring and compassionate woman, and the only way you can express that is by accepting your position as nothing more than my consort and you will accept any child I have in the nursery."

"What?! I will not have _le batard de Picardie_ in my nursery!"

"The royal nursery has been empty for quite some time, and as you have not produced a healthy child to live past a week yet, it is good to put the rooms into good use, and all my children-bastards and princes-will be raised together, side by side. Even the girls. You will love Guillame as if he is your own. I have also secured precautionary steps for England's succession as well."

Anne paled. No...

He could not dare...

He would not...

No...

"I have decided that Guillame will be placed in the line of succession," said the King rather smugly. "As I am still lacking a male heir, Mary is my heiress presumptive, but as she is with no child, Guillame will be placed after her and will be king if both Mary and I die. All my legitimised bastards will be placed in the line of succession behind my legitimate children and descendants. That way, our house of Tudor will remain secure. Is that not a brilliant plan, Anne? I have to admit, it was Francis I that gave me the idea. He tried to place a legitimised son in the French succession but failed. Now I have the satisfaction of showing him my power and capability."

Anne shook her head vigorously.

"No one will accept that," she said flatly. "It is not done anymore. No one will have a bastard boy on the throne, even if he is legitimised. There will be civil war. The people will hate him and love Mary. As the Queen of England and mother of your unborn son, I refuse to be godmother. No matter what you say or do to me, I will never be godmother to your bastards!" She nodded and proudly walked out, tears threatening to burst from her composed eyes.

She would've gone straight to Mary or George, but unfortunately both of them had been summoned to a triumphant Isabelle's chambers.

"Madame," said Mary stiffly. "You are well, I hope?"

"Indeed, Princess Mary," said Isabelle, her eyes glittering between hatred and victory. "Are you not happy to see your little half-brother? He may be king one day. You and Queen Anne will bow and pay homage to him, and eventually me. I have the King's love, and just gave birth to his son. What about you and Queen Anne? No children. No sons."

"That will never happen," said George, angered at her treasonous words. "The King may love you, but it will fade. Queen Anne will have a son, as will Mary and I. We will all have sons who will become kings, and yours will be nothing more than a courtier. Soon, it will be you begging for the Queen's forgiveness, when she presents the King with a royal heir."

"I will be queen regnant if the King does die childless," added Mary, with a small smirk. "At this rate, the people may even prefer Henry Fitzroy to be king rather than your son. Better to be descended from nobility than peasantry, do you not think, Madame?"

Isabelle stood up, hiding the pain of her legs.

"I am the King's _reine de Picardie_," she said proudly. "A queen. What are you? Nothing but a princess, daughter of the cowardly Catherine of Aragon. You must bow to me."

George wrapped his arm around Mary and swept her away, neither of them glancing back at the clearly delusional Isabelle de Luil.

"We need to protect Anne," murmured Mary, not believing she said that. The Mary a few years back would be glad to see Anne squirming with worry. "This woman is crazy. How on earth does she believe she will retain the King's love forever?"

"Anne must have a son," agreed George. "It is her protection."

"As do we. Our two children were victims of poisoning. I'm sure of it."

"Cromwell didn't mention anything about it, didn't he? He's an awfully busy man. Are you absolutely sure Jane and Thomas were poisoned?"

"Anne and I agreed that both of us were poisoned when we were pregnant with Jane and Prince Edward. Someone must have murdered our Thomas."

"Okay. What about Anne? Will she be poisoned?"

"Who hates her?"

"Well...apart from the general public, Catholics, your mother's supporters, Spaniards..."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Um...alright? In court, basically anyone who hates my family and my uncle's family. Do you think they will actually kill her? They will be executed for treason!"

"I wouldn't take any risks though. I will stay by Anne's side."

"You will?" George looked at her, surprised.

He knew all was well between Mary and Anne, but had no idea she was willing to protect her mother's worst enemy from one of the King's mistresses.

"Of course," said Mary, picking up a basket of embroidery, needles and threads. "I will go and find her at once. Why don't you go and find Suffolk? He will know what has happened. He is the King's closest friend after all. We should tell Anne to hire a taster, in case someone wants to poison her and the babe growing in her womb. Anne and I are friends. After that threat uttered by Isabelle, I do not feel right letting her suffer in pain and isolation."

"Good," said George, with an efficient nod, as his mind began zooming with thoughts. "My father wants

me to force you obey family orders, as you are a Boleyn by marriage, but I will not force you to do anything. I am grateful you treat Anne like a friend. I feared you would stubbornly refuse to go to court with me when we first married."

"Children change us," said Mary truthfully, kissing him on the cheek before departing. "Even if they join God's side, they still change us."

"We will have children. I promise you."

"I know. We play by God's rules. At least little Jane and Thomas are in a better place now. I think when we need to talk to Anne, we should go straight to her, rather than to send messages. Letters can be intercepted, and that would endanger Anne more."

"You are right. You are truly the descendant of strong kings!"

"Should you tell your father?"

George hesitated.

Anne was Wiltshire's daughter, but he would hardly care...

"No," he decided. "No one else of my family is to be told. I doubt my father would care as much as you or I. From now on, we are alone in protecting Anne. I will try and convince other nobles to help me declare Isabella witch. How else would she have enchanted our king in legitimising her child? We must play our parts, Mary. It is a performance we all must do. You will be the Queen's dearest friend and protector, while I am the King's most loyal knight. Together, we will rid England of treason and make it a safe haven for Anne to bear her child; our golden prince."

* * *

**Thanks for the birthday wishes :) Sorry if you don't like Isabelle (if I was reading this, I would hate her too), but now the Seymours have properly entered the scene! Please read and review! Oh, for those who are annoyed at Henry recreating the Angevin Empire, I never had any intention for him doing so. He may have conquered a section of France, but do you think he can hold on to it for long? ;) **


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

**September, 1533**

For four months, Anne suffered humiliation after humiliation as the King paraded Isabelle around court with his little bastard.

It was needless to say that she hated it.

Mary accompanied her everywhere she went, sewing baby clothes Anne promised her son would wear once he grows. Even now in the confinement chambers, Mary remained by her side, sewing the final parts of a promising dress.

"Why are you making that?" said Anne, opening an eye from her sleep and glancing over at her. "The child will be a prince. Unless you want him to be a complete patsy and to be a target of unwanted laughter and attention, I would change it to a shirt."

"I already sewed many chemises fit for a prince, and even though the astrologers are absolutely certain it is a boy, it is better to prepare. Besides, if you have a son this time, it may be a daughter the next. Have a look at this little gown, Anne. Don't you find it adorable? I distinctly remember you wore a version of this in a feast a few months back."

"Okay, it is lovely, but you wasted your time."

"It is never a waste of time, Anne. You should learn that the patient ones are rewarded more. It is always better to be prepared. I learnt that from my mother. Oh, she wants me to give you this." She handed Anne a sealed letter.

Anne opened it.

_Anne_, she read silently. _We were born to be enemies. Ever since you arrived in my entourage of ladies, you have done nothing but earn my displeasure. I vowed I would never forgive you, when you turned the King against me and Mary, and the Catholic church. After your visit the other day, you changed my perspective about you. I realised that we were both from ambitious families, regardless that I was born royal and you a knight's daughter. I do not hate you. I pity you. You know how fickle in love our King is, and I assume he already has a mistress. I take it that you and my daughter are friends. You asked for forgiveness and I did not give it last-_

She gasped.

Mary looked up, alert. "What is it?!"

"The baby!" said Anne, her eyes widening as her water broke. "Oh God! Mary! The baby is on his way, go and fetch a midwife! Please!"

A midwife was called for and Anne was hurried onto her bed.

"Mary! Please stay here with me!" she called as Mary turned to leave.

"Mistress Saville," said Mary rapidly. "Go and inform my husband, the Marquess of Ormond, and the King that the Queen's water has broke. Go!"

She squeezed Anne's hand and Mary Carey was summoned at once.

"Relax and listen to the midwife," said Mary soothingly. "You will have this child! More midwives are coming, and you will give the king a son. Forget Isabelle, my mother, even me if you have to. You will be mother of kings. You have proven so by giving us Edward. We know you were not well when you gave birth to him, but nothing will stop you from having a healthy son now. Come on. Breathe."

Anne obeyed, closing her eyes, determined not to scream in pain.

It was said that if the mother does not cry out, the babe will be strong.

Very strong, healthy and with a good sense of just.

The door opened and a troop of midwives rushed in, looks of disgust appearing on the faces of some of the noble ladies.

Mary caught a glimpse of the King and George waiting nervously outside before the door was slammed shut by the last midwife in line.

"The King is waiting outside," Mary told Anne, as her pains quickened. "So is George. See? The King still loves you. Isabelle is just his whore. You are his respected wife and queen."

"He only wants me...for my sons," gasped Anne, clenching her teeth.

"Enough, Your Majesty," said the head midwife firmly. "Do not think negatively. Your child needs to come in positive light. Understand? Your Highness, are you sure you wish to remain here? It may be better if you wait outside with the Marquess of Ormond and the King. The sight may not be pleasant, I'm afraid. I will inform you the gender once the child is born."

Mary looked at Anne.

"Go," said Anne, taking deep breaths. "I will not ask you often, but can you pray for me? Me and the child? We may need it. Please."

Mary nodded and left, muttering her reasons of departure to the King and George before fleeing to the deserted chapel.

She closed her eyes and began praying.

She felt someone shift behind her.

"Princess Mary," said the soft voice of Chapuys behind her. "I knew I will find you here. Praying for the Queen and her child is one thing, but there is also your mother. Even though she is welcome at court as the Duchess of Lancaster, she prefers to stay in Lancaster Castle with her most loyal ladies. The doctors believe she will die, but Lady Willoughby believes she is suffering a broken heart. Praying for recovery is easy, but what of a cure of a broken heart?"

"I find it more simple," Mary murmured back, a smile lingering on her face. "You have always been loyal to her. More than the usual measure of loyalty a servant has to his lady. Tell me, Excellency, when have you fallen in love with her."

"You jest, Princess Mary."

"Come, come, Excellency. You visit her every day, yet every day you are also here. Unless you have a twin brother, who can be as dedicated as you? To me, you are more dedicated to my mother than you are to your master, the Emperor. How often do you write to him? Twice a week? You write to my mother twice that amount per week."

"I cannot love a princess. I will be target of scandals throughout Europe and lose my job! The Emperor will have me executed!"

"If my mother loves you back, I'm sure the respective parties will agree."

"It...it is unheard of! The daughter of the great Catholic Monarchs and aunt to the most powerful man on earth marrying a mere ambassador?! No. We are only friends, that is all. Is there no man in Christendom that will love your mother?"

"I am ready to accept you as stepfather."

"Princess Mary...I cannot marry an Infanta of Castile and Aragon."

"Yes you can, and you must!"

Chapuys sighed deeply.

Love and duty. The two factors that weighed heavily in his heart. He represented all of Spain, and personal affection could not distract him.

Even if the woman in question was a Spanish Infanta.

Especially that.

"Even if she is dying?" said Mary quietly. "My mother's first marriage was to a good man, my uncle, Arthur Tudor. If he lived, she would be happy. Secondly, she married a man who declared his love to her, but then changed his mind only because he fell in love with a younger woman. Don't you think she should die with a smile on her face and a loving husband by her side?"

"Neither of us are young," said Chapuys, attempting to convince himself to shake off his feelings for Catherine. "I doubt we will have children together."

"Children aren't all to make married couples happy."

"Princess Mary-"

"Propose to her then."

"Your Highness! What you are suggesting is impossible!"

"Do not think so negatively, Ambassador. You have cared for her when no one else did. You tried to help her in every way you can. Stop denying yourself a chance in happiness. Go and marry her. Don't wait around. Go. Please."

Chapuys stood up, wincing slightly at his sore leg.

He bowed to Mary and walked out, ordering for a carriage at once, twisting his hands nervously. By then, the corridors were empty, as the courtiers were all gathering outside the Queen's chambers, waiting for an heir. Normally, he would be there, ready to deliver a message of the child's birth to the Holy Roman Emperor, but today, he had other...more personal matters in mind. He calculated by the time he began journeying to Lancaster Castle, he would arrive at nightfall.

"Go as fast as you can!" he ordered as he stepped in the carriage. "Godspeed! If we arrive at Lancaster Castle before the sun goes down, I will pay you handsomely!"

Further persuasion was not needed.

When the sun caressed the tips of the horizon, Chapuys arrived at Lancaster Castle with two exhausted horses and one windswept, dust-covered and tired driver.

"Ambassador," said Maria de Salinas, who had went to investigate the unexpected guests. "Her Royal Highness did not expect you here tonight. Is it important? Have you brought news? I heard that Queen Anne-" She rolled her eyes when she mentioned Anne's name. "Is in labour as we speak. Has she given birth yet? Prince or princess?"

"I came to see the Duchess of Lancaster," said Chapuys, his heart pounding louder by the second. "To me, it is urgent."

With a surprised look, she nodded.

"Arrange for the horses fed and this man well looked after," he instructed further. "Give the man a room for the night and ensure the horses are in the stables. Perhaps give the man a cup of strong ale. He does not seem capable of walking anywhere."

He hurried to Catherine's chambers, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his leg.

He pushed open the door and found Catherine lying on her bed, breathing heavily and her eyes shut, her lips moving as she silently prayed.

"Your Highness," spoke Chapuys, edging closer.

Catherine's eyes opened.

_They were once blue, the colour of the the clear sky, sparkling each day as her husband called himself 'Sir Loyal Heart' and declared his constant love for her. _

She slowly sat up, her darkened auburn and greyish hair limping on her shoulders.

_They were once abundant, of a beautiful shade of reddish auburn. If not trapped in a hood, it used to fly and dance with the wind, often accompanied by musical laughter and a smile._

A broad, content smile.

One that hardly appeared on Catherine's face anymore.

"Chapuys," she said, warmth lighting up in her eyes. "I did not expect you here. Do you come bearing news about Anne Boleyn?"

"It is something else," said Chapuys, pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket. One that he carried with him every day. "I had been talking with Princess Mary, and she convinced me to tell the truth and give in to my feelings. Believe me, it is something I am not good at expressing. I wish to give you this." He gently placed the box onto Catherine's shaking palm.

She opened it carefully.

Sitting comfortably on a folded white handkerchief was a plain golden ring.

Her eyes widened.

"I found no mistress to serve apart from you," whispered Chapuys, staring intently at her in the eye. "I was offered a promotion, to return home to Spain, and the Emperor had chosen for me a wealthy bride many years ago. I refused. I wanted to remain by your side. Infanta Catalina de Castile and Aragon, former Queen of England, Princess Dowager of Wales and Duchess of Lancaster, will you marry me?"

* * *

Celebrations of the promising feast had diminished once the King heard the news of his new daughter, little Princess Elizabeth, named after his mother, Elizabeth of York.

He was promised a son.

He divorced Catherine and married Anne for a son.

Not a daughter.

"She is lovely," the King said, with a forced smile, as he visited Anne straight away. "Beautiful. I hope she has the wits and intelligence of her mother. A daughter this time, sons will follow. Your mother had two daughters before a son, and I am sure you are following her example. It will not be long before you bring forth a Tudor prince, eh?"

Anne nodded sullenly.

"Oh, another thing," said the King, turning around before leaving. "The Duchess of Picardy will join your household as your chief lady-in-waiting. Also, her son, Lord Guillame Tudor, will be raised in the royal nursery alongside Elizabeth. When he turns two, I will invest him as a knight of the Order of the Garter and give him a title and other honours. I expect you to treat him as if he is your own son. When we do have a legitimate boy, we will send him to Wales when he reaches a good age and Guillame will go with him. If I receive word that you mistreat either the Duchess or her son, I will strip you of all your titles. Including that of queen. Do you understand?"

"You cannot do that..." said Anne, her entire world turning upside down in a matter of seconds. "I was crowned queen...a crowned queen is a queen for life...Henry! Please! I have been a loyal wife to you, always caring and always faithful. Why are you doubting me now?!"

"There have been word that you are plotting to have me killed and your unborn-now Elizabeth-child declared the ruler of England."

"Who told you that?! My enemies?!"

"A Queen of England does not openly state her enemies. Perhaps it was a mistake to marry you. Where are all the sons you promised me?! We had Edward, but he died in a few hours. Now all I can show the world is another blasted daughter. The Emperor and King of France are laughing in my face. I am the laughing stock of England!"

"I was poisoned! If you were a kind husband, you would have known!"

"Who on earth would poison you?!"

"Perhaps your French whore?"

_Slap! _

Anne cowered away, her hand touching her cheek that stung with pain. She lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling humiliated and ashamed.

"Do not ever insult her again," the King hissed dangerously, no longer the 'Sir Loyal Heart' he used to be when he was married to Catherine. "I will forgive you this time and blame it on your tiredness. If you address the Duchess with such disrespect again, you will learn to endure your new title of 'My Lady, the King's Wife' and walk behind the Duchess of Picardy, the Duchess of Lancaster, Mary and even our own daughter. I do not expect you at tonight's feast."

He walked away.

Anne closed her eyes, almost in a state of resignation.

"My, my. The great Queen Anne in such a state!" Norfolk smirked as he sauntered in and sitting (without Anne's permission) on the chair in front of her. "Imagine that! One more step and I no longer call you 'Your Majesty, Queen Anne', but 'My Lady Anne' instead! I cannot wait!"

"What do you want?" said Anne, gritting her teeth. "I doubt you are here to gloat."

"I am here, to offer my ah…services."

"Services? That sounds rather treasonous."

"Say what you like about it, but one way or another, you need me if you wish to remain queen and the mother of kings. The King has already proven he is capable of divorcing a highborn, royal Spanish Infanta to marry you, and what will stop him from divorcing you and marrying his French whore and name their son the prince of Wales?"

"He would not dare! The people will not have it!"

"The people?! You still have not won their affections, dear niece. Even if you have a son, they will not accept or help you. The King does not care if the people are unhappy at his chose of bride. Remember when he loved you? You were elevated to the position of marquess. The French whore was given the title of duchess! Well! It will not be long before you find yourself at my feet, begging for mercy and ready to whore yourself out to any man I choose."

"What do you propose?"

"Be compliant. Mellow your temper and be agreeable. Do your duty and have a son. Leave the French whore to me. In a matter of months, she will be shipped off to France, to that muddy field where she belongs. In return, I want my granddaughter, Lady Jane, to marry your future son. I also want an earldom for my second son, Lord Thomas, and for him to marry the King's niece and Suffolk's younger daughter, Lady Eleanor Brandon. Do you understand, Anne? I could've made a Howard queen, but instead chose you to be queen. You will do so to remember who put you there."

Anne said nothing.

"Your Majesty," said Mistress Saville cautiously, peeping through the door. "Her Highness, the Princess Royal is here. Shall I call her in? Oh Your Grace! Forgive me! I did not see you!"

"It is quite alright, Mistress Saville," said Norfolk shortly. "I am just about to leave. Your Majesty, I will be in my study if needed."

He nodded at Anne and left, not even glancing at poor Mistress Saville.

As he departed, Mary went in.

"Anne," she said, a wide smile on her face. "Congratulations! You have given England a bonny princess! I am so happy for you! I heard you named her 'Elizabeth'! Me after the King's favourite sister and Elizabeth after the King's mother. What will your next daughter be named for? I doubt the King will want to name her after his grandmother!"

"Thank you," said Anne, smiling thinly. "I suppose that gown you were sewing will be useful after all. I do not think the King is pleased with another daughter. I do not understand! I had given birth to Edward, who survived for a little while! Why did God find it fit to give me a daughter?"

"He has his plans for all of us. Believe in it."

"How can I? What if he wants me dead?"

"He would have shown it somehow."

"Through a daughter?"

"Do not think so negatively about Elizabeth. You are intelligent, Anne. There will be a more likely chance that Elizabeth will be a bright child, not a doormat. God has decided fit to give you a daughter. Perhaps he has important plans for her in the future."

"Like what? Marry a prince and father heirs?"

"Anne, Elizabeth is healthy. Even more healthy than Edward was. Give her a chance and love her. She is your daughter, after all."

Anne nodded, smiling at baby Elizabeth, who slept in a cradle beside her.

"You are right," she agreed. "I am being unreasonable. Sons will come."

Mary smiled.

"How would you have felt if your siblings survived?" said Anne curiously. If Catherine's sons had survived, she would never had the opportunity of being queen. The highest honour she would achieve would've been either a good match or being the King's mistress. She knew it was a delicate subject, but her curiosity won the better of her.

"I don't know," said Mary thoughtfully. "I suppose I will be happy. My mother would be happy, so will the King, and I would have sisters and brothers educated alongside me. I guess I wouldn't have felt as lonely as I did back in my childhood days."

"Will you take care of Elizabeth...if anything happens to me?"

"Of course! Why?" She looked suspiciously at Anne.

"I may die in childbirth after all. I do not think the King will care for Elizabeth properly. I know you will though. Please promise me that you will not let her live a pauper's life."

"Anne! Elizabeth is a princess of royal blood! I doubt she will ever be a pauper! If you mean a pauper in the King's affections, then yes I will. She will always be loved. I promise."

"Thank you. What if her rights were challenged?"

Mary raised her eyebrows.

"Her rights?" she repeated. "You will have a son!"

"What if I do not?" said Anne, painfully facing the possibility in not conceiving a healthy heir. "If the King dies sonless, will you support her? Of course you will be queen in your own right, but if you have no son, will you acknowledge Elizabeth as your heir in case of opposition from other nations?"

"It is ill will to speak thus of the King," said Mary softly, looking away, unable to meet Anne's gaze for that delicate question. "However, hypothetically, if you speak the truth, and I become queen regnant and I have no son...if I have a daughter, I will declare her my heir. I am sorry Anne, but if I have a child, I will always support her more. However, if I am childless, yes, I will support Elizabeth."

Anne sighed, relieved.

"Elizabeth will need you in the future," she said, closing her eyes a little. "I must rest now. Can you visit the King and his mistress on my behalf?"

"Of course," said Mary, patting her hand. "I must see George before that though. We had not spent as much time together as we had hoped for."

"My brother loves you."

"Indeed. I love him too."

"True love is rare, Mary. Hold on to it while you can. You know him longer than I do, Mary. The King, that is. Will he love Elizabeth as a father should to a daughter or not? You were his Pearl. Will she be his dear little Pearl too?"

"Truthfully, no. The King can only have one special pearl, and that is me. Elizabeth will be his sweet, darling Rose. Elizabeth is the Rose of His World."

* * *

**As a warning, exam season is approaching so intervals between chapter updates may be a little longer...please read and review :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

**September, 1533**

Catherine stared at the ring, her eyes frozen with shock. Her second marriage had already been unexpected, and now a third?!

Chapuys watched her nervously.

_I probably went too far,_ he thought. _What was I thinking?! That was foolish! I would probably be dismissed and sent away from England in disgrace. She will never want to see me again. I will enter a monastery and take my vows to be a monk-_

"Yes."

"Yes?" said Chapuys, his mind dizzy and confused. "I should be a monk?"

"What?!" laughed Catherine, slipping the ring on her own finger. "Who said anything about you becoming a monk?! I will marry you, Eustace Chapuys, and if I have to relinquish all my titles and worldly possessions, so be it! I will be perfectly content being the ambassador's wife!"

The two embraced; finally.

"We must seek the King's permission," said Catherine, breaking away. "And the Emperor's! They certainly will not agree to our marriage! If I am to be sent back to Spain, the Emperor may ask for me to retire to a nunnery, or marry me off to any desperate prince who is willing to take the Emperor's barren aunt as wife!"

"Let him be furious!" said Chapuys carelessly and hopelessly in a state of love and joy. "You have already signed the annulment with the King, and he should be grateful enough to allow this match. With Mary as the Queen's friend and sister-in-law, she will encourage our union! You may as well choose a wedding day, my dear Infanta!"

The door opened and Maria de Salinas stared at the two, her eyes as wide as dinner platters.

"Maria," said Catherine warmly. "I am to be married."

"To be married?!" squawked Maria. "Your Highness! To whom?! Pray it is not that whore Anne's widower father, the Duke of Wiltshire! Ambassador, who is it?!"

"Me," said Chapuys simply. "Dona Maria, you have been Catalina's friend since childhood. Be happy for her. Both Catalina and I love each other, and nothing will stop us from marrying. Not the King, not the Emperor…no one."

Maria instantly congratulated them.

Of course she was happy for her mistress and friend!

"We must go to court," said Catherine rapidly. "Seek the King's permission privately. If this news reaches other nobles' ears before the King's, we will be thrown in the Tower! We will leave tomorrow morning. Gifts must be packed. The King has a love for fine objects, and the Queen enjoys wearing rubies and pearls. The child must be gifted too. Is it a prince or princess by the way?"

"A princess," supplied Maria, a flash of triumph visible in her eyes. "I received word from my brother-in-law. They named her Princess Elizabeth Tudor."

"The Queen must be devastated. Maria, ask the servants to prepare a basket of pomegranates. The finest ones that we have. As for Princess Elizabeth…a small chest of toys all young royals love to play with, like rattles, wooden horses…the craftsmen would know. It is late, but tell them that if they are dedicated to work through the night, I will arrange for strong ale, fresh bread and meat to be sent to them and they will be paid double the usual pay. Go quickly!"

"Yes Your Highness. Is there anything else?"

"Not yet. I will call you when I need you."

Maria curtsied and ran off gracefully.

Not many craftsmen could be found on the castle grounds, but after a quick investigation of the closest towns outside, a dozen craftsmen agreed and were ushered into their work rooms. They were given finer instruments to create the magnificent toys for the little princess and a small bag of coins as down payment, with promise of more once the work was done.

Catherine also hinted at a position of craftsman in her household.

Working for the duchess of Lancaster could be no higher honour for a common worker. They immediately set to work, even as the moon swiftly flew to the sky. They never stopped, except for a quick meal, and by the time the sun greeted England, a large chest full of painted toys were ready. Their wives had also helped, sewing little dresses for the wooden dolls with their nimble fingers.

Catherine was more than grateful.

"You have done me a great service," she declared as they breakfasted together. "In return, I will give all of you the payment I promised, and the offer of being craftsmen and ladies-in-waiting in my household. I will not force you to accept it, as it is your choice."

Chapuys smiled and squeezed her hand, more lovesick than ever. Maria looked on, and found it extremely queer for the expressionless ambassador to be filled with such open emotion!

It was actually quite refreshing.

Everything was soon packed, and Catherine and Chapuys headed off to court, bright smiles on their faces and the disease of laughter infecting them both.

* * *

"She is here?!" said Anne, envy returning like an old ailment. "The Duchess of Lancaster has returned to court without notice?! Of course she heard the news that I gave birth to a daughter! She probably wants to taunt me further!"

"The Duchess if my mother," Mary reminded her. "She is probably here to congratulate you and to see her new niece. I am Elizabeth's aunt as well as half-sister you know. My mother never taunts or openly insults others. You know that."

"She may have changed and wants revenge on me."

"For what? She agreed to the divorce."

"Maybe to gloat at my inability to have a living son."

"Why would she do that? She had no sons either. You will be expected to go and greet her. After all, it is part of your duties as queen."

Anne sighed and grudgingly walked to the throne room and sat on the throne beside the King, a smile plastered on her face as the doors opened. Mary dutifully stood beside George with her illegitimate half-brother, the Duke of Richmond, and his wife, Lady Mary Howard. Beside the King and sitting on a chair was the much-hated Isabelle, Duchess of Picardy. Mary wondered if Catherine had been told of the King's latest greedy foreign mistress.

Catherine entered with Chapuys.

Of course, thought Anne. That Spanish ambassador follows her like a puppy.

"Your Majesties," said Catherine, curtseying to both the King and Anne. "I apologise for arriving without notice, but I heard the news of a new princess of England in the royal nursery. If you permit me, I brought gifts for you all." She waved her hand and four servants walked up, two carrying the large chest of toys, one holding another box and the other, a small basket.

Looking closer, Anne noticed that Catherine held another basket, which was concealed snugly by her long, dark purple travelling cloak.

The King leant forward with interest.

When it came to receiving gifts, the King had the curiosity of a small child.

His eyes lit with delight as he saw a jewelled Tudor rose, made entirely of rubies, emeralds, pearls and topazes. He had always wanted one, but matters of state (and the heart) prevented him from commissioning one for many years. He was surprised Catherine still remembered!

The other servant took off the blanket covering the basket and Anne's eyes widened as she saw it filled to the rim with glistening rubies and pearls.

She had always loved rubies and pearls.

However, when the chest of toys opened, both the King and Anne gasped.

"Your Highness!" said Anne, shocked. "Where on earth-?"

"Royal craftsmen may not all be as talented as you think, Your Majesty," said Catherine truthfully, not flinching a second as she called Anne 'Her Majesty'. "I had looked at nearby towns to my home in Lancaster Castle, and discovered many talented craftsmen who are commoners. I have now accepted them into my household as official craftsmen. I remembered when Mary was a child. She loved to play with wooden toys and dolls alike, and I decided to gift Princess Elizabeth with toys similar to those Mary loved. I have also commissioned a small trousseau of clothes for the dolls. If Your Majesties take a closer look, you will find a smaller chest inside this large one. I recalled that Mary used to like sewing gowns for her own dolls. With your permission, I wish to instruct Princess Elizabeth in needlework when she is older. Queen Anne, here is another gift for you." She handed her the basket full of pomegranates.

Standing near the wall, Maria sniggered softly.

"It is said that eating pomegranates increases a chance of fertility," explained Catherine. "If you need more, I will deliver it to you."

"Thank you," said Anne, strangely touched. "I appreciate what you have done. All those toys for Elizabeth...I cannot thank you enough."

The King nodded in agreement.

"Catherine..." he said, the name odd on his tongue. "Will you be godmother to Elizabeth? The sneaky, untrustworthy Francis I refused to be godfather as it wasn't a prince. You deserve the honour of being godmother. Will you? Please?"

Anne nodded wordlessly.

Perhaps now she would be...friends with Catherine?

"Of course," said Catherine graciously. "It will be my honour. May I ask you something delicate, Your Majesty? I have good news."

"Yes," said the King, nodding vigorously, his eyes on the jewelled Tudor rose. "Of course! Of course you may, Catherine! And please, call me 'Henry'. We are still family, are we not?"

"We are?"

"You are my brother's widow-"

"No. I will not accept that, Your Majesty. Remember, I agreed to our divorce on the grounds of consanguinity, not because I was truly married (or not) to your brother."

"Yes. Forgive me, Duchess Catherine. I misspoke. We are still cousins, are we not? Call me 'Henry', as we are distantly related, but still family."

"Of course." She smiled at him. "Henry. Congratulations again, on the birth of a dear princess. It's been said that she has your red hair. I came here to ask for your permission to marry."

"What?!" said Anne, astounded. Who on earth would marry a barren woman?

Then again, Catherine is still the daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, aunt to the Holy Roman Emperor and mother to the King of England's eldest daughter, who is still heiress presumptive to the throne. She wondered which nobleman would have the audacity to propose to Catherine!

"Really?" said the King, leaning forward with interest, alarm and astonishment. "Does this certain man know your inability to have a child, let alone a son? Let us hope he has numerous brothers to succeed him in his peerage! I admit, there are advantages to marry you, despite your infertility. The lucky man will be duke of Lancaster through you, inherit the castles and estates I bestowed upon you, have the style 'His Grace', and to some extent, become a member of the royal family! Now! Who is this fortunate man? Will the Emperor approve?" He snorted with laughter.

Anne laughed uncertainly.

"The Spanish ambassador, Eustace Chapuys," said Catherine calmly, squeezing Chapuys's hand. "He proposed, and I accepted. We love each other, and our desire to remain together is a dream we wish to fulfil together through matrimony."

Anne's mouth dropped open.

A princess married to a mere ambassador?!

The daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, the wife of a commoner?!

"Excellency," the King managed to say, staring at Chapuys, who looked boldly back. "Do you love the Duchess of Lancaster?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Chapuys truthfully. "With all my heart. I do not care if she is blind, penniless, disinherited or barren. Nothing can keep us apart."

Catherine nodded. "I will marry him, even if I have to relinquish the dukedom of Lancaster."

"Will you?" said Anne, puzzled.

"That will go against the divorce papers," countered Mary, in case the King actually considered revoking her mother's title. "My mother agreed to the annulment and you promised her the title and estates and annuity that goes with it. Your Majesty, you are a merciful king, father and husband. You have experienced love, and the goodness of it. Let my mother, the Duchess of Lancaster, to experience it. She married once politically, and then for love. To you. Let her marry again for love."

The King nodded thoughtfully.

"Are you with child yet?" he said suddenly.

"I am not sure," said Mary, confused. "Is there a reason why my mother's possible marriage had to do with if I am with child or not?"

"It does," said the King shortly. "Once you confirm you are pregnant, I give my permission to the Duchess of Lancaster's marriage with Eustace Chapuys. However, they will not be allowed to marry until after you present your child to the court."

"Your Majesty!"

"If you are not pregnant, they cannot marry. Simple."

"Why?! I have proved I could have a child!"

"It was a feeble girl and she died within hours."

"I was poisoned! If you opened your eyes, you would know! I am perfectly capable of having children! I do not have to prove anything!"

"No," interrupted Catherine, before the King could argue back. "His Majesty has spoken. Mary, I can wait if I must. Thank you, Your Majesty."

She curtsied and left with Chapuys.

Mary also hastily excused herself and departed with George.

"Why did the King forbid my mother's marriage?!" demanded Mary. "I doubt it was Anne this time! She wouldn't sink that low to rip happiness from my mother!"

"He fears her," said George, as gently as he could to calm down an irritated Mary. "He believes-and declares-that your mother is infertile, but what if she has children with Chapuys? He will be the laughing stock of Christendom! People may even say that her child with Chapuys still has more right to the succession than Princess Elizabeth. Once you have a child, the succession-in the King's eyes-will be more secure, as your mother would not go against you or your children. We will have a child. I promise. I will talk to the King, and try and persuade him-"

"What if it isn't that?" said Mary, turning on him sharply and accusingly. "What if I am wrong about Anne, and she is truly your sneaky uncle's niece? What if she was the one worried about Catherine having a child with Chapuys and wants me to have a half-Tudor, half-Boleyn son in case she dies without a half-Tudor, half-Boleyn son to be king?"

George stared at her, hurt.

"She wouldn't," he murmured, unsure what to say. "Anne wouldn't do that..."

Mary shot him a scathing look and stalked off.

"What is going on?" said Anne, appearing at George's side. "I heard shouting."

"We were shouting?" said George, watching Mary leave sadly. "I didn't even realise that. She thinks you can be responsible in preventing her mother marry Chapuys. What can I do? If I asked our father for advice, he would berate me for not taming and breaking her and tell me to punish her. How can I apologise to her? How can I choose whose side to be on?"

"I will try and ask the King to give them permission," promised Anne, who wants to be seen once and for all, not as the evil whore, but a kind queen. "I do not mind if Mary wishes to retire from court for a while, or if she wants to avoid me."

George smiled at her.

"I never finished reading her letter," said Anne, fidgeting with her necklace. "Catherine wrote me a letter, and I started reading it before I went into labour. I never finished reading it. I always thought she hated me, but why would she commission all those toys for Elizabeth, if she did? I will return her favour by allowing the match. Even if it has to be secret."

George looked at her incredulously.

"You will go against the King?" he hissed. "It is treason!"

"It will be worth it," said Anne, her eyes glittering with excitement and determination. "The people will accept me once Catherine is happy. I know it is selfish, but what else can I do? They won't accept Elizabeth as long as Catherine is there, and I can approach this situation in two ways. One, dispose her. Two, help her achieve happiness and the life she always wanted."

"By God Anne! What happens if you get caught?! You will be executed!"

"Then I will die a martyr and the people will know what happens to those who attempt to help others attain joy from a heartless king."

"Alright. I will help you. What do you want me to do?"

"Be a witness to the wedding."

"Very well. Why?"

"When we break the news to Mary, you will tell her that you were a witness in her mother's secret wedding. She will love you and me, and all will be well."

"That is a good idea Anne! There needs to be more than one witness. Who else are you planning to ask to stand as witnesses?"

"I was thinking of Lady Willoughby, Catherine's closest friend. We do not see matters eye to eye, but I believe this is one thing I am certain we can agree on. She is devoted to Catherine, and I am confident she will agree to be witness. I am also wondering whether I should ask the King's sister, the Duchess of Suffolk, to be a witness. She loves Catherine and despises me, but her husband is one of the most loyal friends of the King. Is that enough?"

"It should be. I doubt we would drop dead like flies after the wedding."

Anne laughed a little.

"Where is Catherine now?" asked George.

"She has retired to her own chambers," answered Anne. "I saw her go in with Lady Willoughby. Is it just me, or does that woman follow her everywhere like a puppy?"

"She is loyal to the bone. It is always good to have loyal friends. Maria de Salinas was raised beside Catherine in their childhood."

"I wish I have loyal friends."

"You do. You have me, father, Uncle Norfolk, our sister Mary…"

"Bah. Uncle Norfolk and father only support me because I am queen. If I lose my crown, they will desert me in seconds. Our sister Mary is an airhead. She always obeys our father. If he instructs her to leave me for the next queen consort, she will do so like a meek lamb. You are my one and only supporter. I don't even know if Mary is loyal to me."

"I cannot assure you of her allegiance though. It is unfortunate, but I believe friendship can be maintained between the two of you if this matter is treated carefully."

"How will that work? Mary will clearly support her mother over me!"

"Calm down. Your rivalry with Catherine is in the past. Now is time to forge new friendships. You are a capable woman, and I know you can do it. The key in all this is to befriend Catherine. She has offered you pomegranates, and that is a good sign. She has acknowledged you as queen and wishes for you to have sons. If she still hated you, she might give you a cursed gift or something."

"Good point. I will go and find Catherine and talk to her. Do you know what Uncle Norfolk is up to? He said he will remove Isabelle from her position as _Maitresse-en-titre_. I don't know what to do about it. He hasn't talked to me in a while…"

"Be thankful for it! What do you mean he will remove his whore?"

"I do not know. Father wouldn't tell me either. If he knows about it."

"I'll find out for you."

"Thank you George. I don't want you looking through keyholes or eavesdropping. That reminds me of your former betrothed, Mistress Jane Parker. She is still unmarried, but has returned to court. She probably went to visit her sister or something."

"I'm glad I have Mary instead of her. Remember when we were betrothed? She would never leave me alone! She followed me everywhere, begging to be in my company! Horrifying! When will you arrange for the secret wedding?"

"As soon as possible. I am also prepared to take full responsibility from it, and I will ensure Chapuys will be given a title and an annuity as Catherine's husband."

"I am certain Mary will be grateful. Chapuys had always been a more fatherly figure to her than her true

father, the King, if you do not mind me saying. Once she learns you arranged it, you two will be friends."

"I hope it will work…"

"Of course it will work! You are Anne Boleyn! Everything you set out to do, you complete! You wanted to go to France, you stayed there for years. You wanted to marry the King for love, you are now his lawful wife. You wanted to be greater and more powerful than our sister, you are the crowned queen of England and she is nothing more than a disgraced mistress of the King. There is nothing you failed in. When people remember you, they will know you as the One Who Conquered All."

"You have forgotten one thing I did not succeed in."

"What? Crushing Catherine?"

"My first love, Henry Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland. I loved him foolishly and he loved me back. I could not marry him. Nothing I could say or do could change father's mind. Even the idea of a Boleyn girl succeeding to the ranks of countess did not please him." Her tone was bitter.

"You are more than that now," soothed George. "You are a queen. You love the King, and he loves you back. You will have a son, and Isabelle will be shipped back to France."

Anne nodded and went to see Catherine.

George turned, and his smile froze.

Standing in front of him with an unattractive smile was his former betrothed, Mistress Jane Parker, her arm protectively around a young boy of three.

"Mistress Parker," he said stiffly. "Welcome back to court. What can I do for you?"

"Hello George," said Jane Parker, her eyes eating every inch of him greedily and lustfully. "Or is it the Marquess of Ormond now? I heard you were…promoted and married to a princess. Well…what an improvement since our betrothal dissolved."

"It is 'Lord Ormond' to you, Mistress Parker."

"Very well, _Lord_ Ormond. I have not seen you for three years, and I can see you are a very changed man, a _very_ changed man indeed..."

"What do you want?" He became slightly more irritated by the minute.

"Recognition," said Jane Parker with a falsely innocent smile. "Recognition that I am your true wife, and you acknowledge little Thomas as your son and heir."

* * *

**Don't worry. Mary will have a child soon and the Seymours will return :) Please read and review! :) **


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

**October, 1533**

A month had passed and Mary remained away from George and Anne. She had left for Lancaster Castle with Catherine two days after her argument with George.

George himself, was in a serious dilemma.

_"What do you want?" He became slightly more irritated by the minute._

_"Recognition," said Jane Parker with a falsely innocent smile. "Recognition that I am your true wife and you acknowledge little Thomas as your son and heir."_

He always thought Jane Parker was not fully right in the head, but to declare herself his true wife?! She must be locked away in a convent.

George had managed to avoid Jane Parker for a month with the excuse of travelling to France to suppress the Norman revolts, but now that he was back in England, Jane Parker had appeared at his side like a pestering harpy.

"We are not married," George insisted.

"We are!" exclaimed Jane Parker adamantly. "We are married, and this is our son!" She pointed to the fair-haired boy at her side.

"No. You...you do not know what you are talking about. You are unwell, Mistress Parker. I will write to your father, Henry Parker, 10th Baron Morley, and he will arrange for you to be taken home. Perhaps you can stay with your sister, Lady Margaret Shelton or your other sister, Lady Alice Barrington. We were not married, and we will never be. Princess Mary Tudor is my wife."

"You are mistaken! Do you wonder why your son and daughter have died young?"

"How do you know that?"

"You are living in sin, husband! You have married another woman without divorcing me! It is very sweet of you to name your eldest daughter after me (father told me you named your daughter 'Lady Jane Boleyn'), but she is illegitimate! We have been married for three years! Little Thomas is now three years old, and we have been living in the country together. I thought it was only right for you to see your son now and declare him your heir and grant him the title 'Viscount Rochford'. I think it is about time we have another son, do you?"

"I did not name my late daughter after you. Can you prove we are married?"

To his horror, Jane Parker produced a piece of parchment.

"It is legal," she said triumphantly. "You were drunk one night, and proposed to me. I accepted. We went to the chapel and a priest married us. I still remember him, and he still remembers you. We consummated our union in a tavern bedchamber, and we did not speak much after that. I went to the country, gave birth to a son and I named him Thomas, after your father. I always knew that he will have a bright future and a career. Thomas, meet your father, the Marquess or Ormond."

"The King did not elevate my peerage for marriage to you," said George desperately. "He made me a marquess to marry his daughter, the Princess Mary! If I am truly married to you, he would've left me as nothing but Viscount Rochford!"

Jane Parker's victorious smile transformed into an ugly scowl.

"The King assured my father that Beaulieu Palace will be ours as a wedding gift!" she said, outraged, her cheeks flaming red. "We are MARRIED! My son is your HEIR!"

"We will discuss this later," said George, forcing himself to remain calm. "As your...husband, I command you to return to your chambers with...our son. I will talk to the King, my uncle and my father about this and this matter will be resolved."

A smile returned to Jane Parker's lips.

"Visit me tonight?" she said sweetly-too sweetly.

"Perhaps," said George, feeling ill. "The King might want to talk all night about this. If I don't see you tonight, I will see you tomorrow morning."

Jane Parker nodded, kissed him on the cheek and walked off smugly with her son.

George immediately went to see Anne.

"She said I was drunk," George confessed to her once every lady-in-waiting left the room. "I seriously don't remember any of it. Do you? Apparently we even consummated our union and now she's presenting me with a son of three years! By God! Do you think I actually married her?! Father will be happy if it is true, as he would be gifted with a grandson, but with Mary..."

"You married Jane Parker?" snorted Anne. "An unlikely story!"

"She even has paperwork to prove it! Mary is already angry at me, and now she will be furious! Or maybe she will be pleased and can marry the prince of her dreams. She will have those royal sons and daughters she was always supposed to have. What do we do?"

"Father will be both furious and pleased. He has a grandson, but loses a royal daughter-in-law. What do you want to do? Whatever you plan, I'll support you. Do you want to apparently remain married to Jane Parker? You'll lose Mary, but gain a son and heir. I suggest you talk to the King before you approach father or Uncle Norfolk on the matter."

"That was exactly as I thought!"

"Who will you choose? Mary or Jane?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?! Mary of course! I never liked Jane Parker! Mary is the woman I love, not Jane Parker! Mary will be the mother of my sons, not Jane Parker! Something tells me that Jane Parker will not willingly annul our apparent marriage."

"Do you think she speaks truth, and you actually have a son?"

"She thinks so. I do not remember sleeping with her..."

"What if we bribe her with a peerage and an annuity? Jane Parker is a greedy bitch. She may agree to divorce you if the annulment settlement included giving her an annuity and a peerage and a husband who will love her. Even though I despise her, I feel sorry for her. All she wanted was to be loved. Her mother, Alice Parker (nee' St John), Lady Morley died when Jane Parker was young, and her father, Henry Parker, 10th Baron Morley never had enough time to look after her and his other children; his heir Henry, and his other daughters, Alice and Margaret. She may have thought you were her ideal husband, but after what happened...she will never be sweet again."

"When was she sweet?! She's deranged!"

"George! Have a heart! Don't you remember the first day Jane Parker was presented to us? I will talk to the King, and you find a good man for her."

"Does Lord Morley know that his daughter had a son of dubious bloodline?"

"Anne," said Lady Mary, sticking her head in the room. "Oh, George. You're here too? The King wishes to see you at once. He says it is urgent."

"Do you know what it regards?" said George carefully.

"You," said Lady Mary, looking at him curiously. "He says that if you and Anne do not show up with father and Norfolk in ten minutes, all of you will be in the Tower facing charges on the grounds of treason. I included. What have you done? Please tell me you didn't kill a man..."

Anne smirked.

"What's so funny?" said Lady Mary and George together.

"This probably has something to do with George's recent marital dilemma," she said, with a snigger. "I thought you knew, Mary? George has committed a serious sin!"

Lady Mary raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"He is married to Mistress Jane Parker!" laughed Anne, even though it was a serious matter. "And he has a son called Thomas! Imagine that! He has been married to her for three years! We cannot speak so rudely to Mistress Jane anymore! She is the marchioness of Ormond!"

"Come on!" urged Lady Mary, glancing tentatively around. "We must go to the King, or all our heads will be on spikes on London Bridge! What if he makes Isabelle queen? He will disinherit Elizabeth and have his heir! For Elizabeth's sake, we must go!"

The three of them rushed to the King's chambers, the women giggling a little.

"YOU DARE LAUGH AT A GRAVE MATTER LIKE THIS?!"

Their laughter ceased as the shadow of Henry VIII loomed forebodingly over them.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," said Anne sweetly, curtseying. "Why do you call us at this hour?"

"Is it true?!" spat the King, glaring at George with burning hatred. "Are you married to Mistress Jane Parker or not?! She told me that you've been married for three bloody years! FOR THREE YEARS! You have deceived me, Ormond! You have been married this whole time when you went through the ceremony with my daughter! Is this some scheme cooked up by your uncle?! Are you using Mary to climb closer to the throne?! You have shamed my daughter! You better have a good explanation for this, or I will throw you into the Tower and have you EXECUTED!"

"I do not know," said George uncomfortably.

"HOW CAN YOU BLOODY NOT KNOW?! EVERY MAN WILL KNOW IF HE IS MARRIED OR NOT! SHE EVEN SHOWED ME THE WEDDING CONTRACT! YOU FOOL!" He thwacked George on the head.

"I apologise if I had offended you in any way-"

"OFFENDED IN ANY WAY?! MY DAUGHTER IS NOW A WHORE AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW IT! YOU FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS, OR YOU WILL BE EXECUTED IN A DAY!"

"Can we offer Jane Parker an annulment contract?"

"A contract?" The King calmed down quickly.

"Yes, Your Majesty. An annulment contract. She is a difficult woman, and all difficult women can be placated with ah, bribery. Offer her a peerage, a loving husband and the legitimisation of her son in exchange for a divorce."

The King looked sceptical. "She will accept that?"

"Yes, dear husband," Anne piped in. "I know Mistress Parker. Deep inside, she is a lovely woman. She is just insecure and without support. If you give make her a peer in her own right, she will agree to the divorce and leave us alone, and Mary and George can be married secretly again. The people do not have to know about this."

The King nodded thoughtfully.

"Who will marry her?" he wondered. "She does not have a perfect reputation."

"I have a man in mind, Your Majesty," supplied Lady Mary. "Sir John Dudley. He is a loyal and caring man, who has just been widowed. It has been said that he loved his wife till she died last year. Sir John Dudley and his late wife, Jane Guildford, had four young children together; three sons and a daughter, and they all need a mother. I'm sure a baron's daughter will delight him."

"Sir John Dudley..." mused the King. "Yes, Lady Carey. He will do brilliantly. His father was Sir Edmund Dudley, was he not? I had him executed when I ascended the throne...Sir John had always shown himself to be loyal, and a rich wife will do him good. He has his sons anyway, and if he is glad to take Mistress Parker's son as his own, I will bestow the viscountcy of Lisle upon Dudley, as it was his mother's title before her death. I am certain Dudley will accept Jane Parker as his second wife."

George nodded, relieved.

"I will give her the title 'Viscountess Lovell'," decided the King. "Her paternal grandmother was a Lovell who was also baroness in her own right. I will also give Mistress Parker an annuity of two thousand pounds and her son and his future descendants will succeed her. Her son will be given the heir apparent title of 'Baron Parker', and her future grandson will be a baronet."

"Do you think she will accept?" said George uncertainly.

"Yes," said Anne confidently. "She is a woman who knows what she wants."

In a matter of minutes, an agreement was drawn up and Jane Parker was summoned.

"Mistress Parker," said the King crisply. "We have been talking, and this matter of your...marriage to the Marquess of Ormond cannot come to light. No matter whether it is true or not, we have decided to negotiate with you for an annulment." He handed her the contract.

"I cannot give him up, Your Majesty!" shrilled Jane Parker. "Our son will have nothing! We are lawfully married, and I will give George many sons!"

"If you read the agreement, Mistress Parker, you and your son will be provided for immensely. You will also have a new husband in Sir John Dudley." Jane Parker's eyes skimmed through the parchment and she frowned slightly.

"No," she said flatly. "It is not fair. I will only be a viscountess, and my son, a baron. I am married to George, and I am the Marchioness of Ormond, my son, Viscount Rochford. It is time I take my place in court as his wife. Why would I agree to marry a man who is a mere knight with three sons of his own? If I have a son with him, he will have low prospects."

Hastily, a new contract was drawn up.

"I hope you find this more agreeable, Mistress Parker," said the King stiffly. "Please keep in mind that

many women do not have a choice in writing their own marriage contracts including their dowries."

Jane Parker nodded.

"You will hold the title 'Viscountess Lovell' in your own right," negotiated George. "As your heir apparent, your son Thomas will be Baron Parker. You will have an annuity of two thousand pounds and still marry Sir John Dudley, who will have the title 'Earl of Warwick' bestowed upon him. As his wife, you will be the countess of Warwick. All the sons you have with Sir John Dudley will be given earldoms upon their marriages to ladies of the King's approval. Your future daughters will be married to great noblemen, all above the rank of 'viscount' and under that of 'prince' unless given permission by the King. Your future children-with those of Sir John Dudley and his first wife, the late Lady Jane Guildford-will be wards of the King and Queen of England and given an excellent education alongside the Princess Elizabeth and any other children the King and Queen happen to have. In return, you will agree to the divorce and never speak of this matter again. If you do, your titles and estates will be forfeit and you will be executed without trial on the grounds of high treason and your son, Thomas, will be kept in the Tower unto the King's pleasure and will not be permitted to marry. Upon your marriage to Sir John Dudley, you will remain in Kenilworth Castle and stay away from court unless you are summoned. Do you agree to that?"

Her lips tightened.

Being at court was her life...! The intrigue! The excitement!

Being away from it will be hell!

Damn my quick tongue! She thought. If I agreed to the earlier contract, I might've been allowed to stay at court more! Alice is the one suited to the duties of a country wife, not me! I live on excitement and secrets! Not looking after children away from court!

However, the thought of being a countess appealed to her.

Neither of her sisters were countesses...

"Very well," she agreed, scrawling her name on the parchment. "I will keep my end to the bargain, and I hope you will too. However, George. I want you to say hello to Thomas before he is shipped off the country and acknowledged as Sir John Dudley's son and ward."

George nodded with a sigh.

Pretending to be her son's father was easy enough.

"Wait," said the King shortly. "Lord Ormond will visit your son after all the divorce papers are signed, you witness the secret remarriage of Lord Ormond and the Princess Royal and your own marriage to Sir John Dudley. Understand, Mistress Parker?"

Jane Parker curtsied and left.

"I hope you and Mary are now able to have surviving children," said the King, his cold gaze landing on George. "Once this divorce matter is sorted."

* * *

Unrest and unease stirred within English-conquered France. Suffolk tried to be fair, but the French didn't seem to appreciate it.

He knew that in the time of Edward I and Edward II of England, the savage Scots slowly gained back their land due to the English soldiers' brutality and unfairness towards the natives of Scotland. He vowed not to make the same mistake.

However, nothing he seemed to do would work.

He wanted to return to England.

To his wife.

To his family.

"Your Grace," said the fresh-faced, sixteen year old Henry Grey, 3rd Marquess of Dorset appearing in front of him. "We have a problem. There's been word of another Joan of Arc spreading around camp. The soldiers are getting anxious and want to go home. What will we do? I do not believe it is true. There cannot be another Joan of Arc!"

"That witch?" snorted Suffolk. "By God! There's no way that is true!"

"I know it is impossible, Your Grace, but the soldiers do not think so. Francis I is in hiding, and it is said that he is financing this second Joan of Arc to regain Normandy and Picardy. What will we do? Do you want us to leave this person (or myth) alone, or exterminate the threat? The soldiers will want to return home for Christmas before December."

"Has any English soldier been killed by this Joan yet?"

"No. She does not seem to claim that she heard voices from the angels either. Maybe it is something the French made up to scare us. Shall I organise another public flogging?"

"No, my lord Dorset. If we do, the French will sense that we are afraid. We cannot allow that to happen, do you understand? No Frenchman is to be harmed unless this Joan of Arc shows herself. Every English soldier she kills, two Frenchmen will be executed. Do not release that information yet. She may be a threat, but there are certain regulations we must follow."

"Your Grace! We must teach the French a lesson once and for all!"

"No. You are young and hot-headed. I was a lad like you once-"

"You were not, Lord Suffolk. You were still a commoner, nothing more than a standard bearer's son! I am the son of the late marquess! Nobility!"

"I will pretend I did not hear you say that. Go and squash those rumours of this Joan of Arc without violence. If I find out you flogged or killed a single Frenchman, I will send you home to England in disgrace, and terminate your betrothal to my daughter, Frances! I doubt Lord Arundell would even want you for his daughter by then." He chuckled as Dorset blushed furiously.

Dorset bowed and exited.

He sat around the open fire and listened as the soldiers talked.

"...Have you heard? It's been said that Joan of Arc has risen back from the dead!"

"...Old fisher wives' tales. Nothing more."

"...You have drank too much wine, my friend! You must rest."

"...No! It is true, men! It has been said that with Francis I's support and the backing of the French nobility, this Joan of Arc is marching here to reclaim the land for the French! Her armies are twice the size of that of the first Joan."

"Enough!" said Dorset suddenly. "These are nothing but rumours! Let this second Joan of Arc come and face the wrath of us Englishmen! Our king has the blood of Henry V running in his veins! He will teach the French a lesson they will never forget! We are not afraid of a simple French peasant girl! I promise you this, men; once we capture her, we will not burn her at stake like the last one. We will...play with her as all men do to girls." The soldiers guffawed. "We will watch her break and rot in prison! She will not be a martyr or a saint! She will ROT WHERE SHE BELONGS!"

The soldiers cheered wildly.

Dorset stood up and nodded at a fellow soldier.

"Who is this Joan of Arc?" he said quietly. "She doesn't hear the voices of the angels. Is she in anyway similar to the last?"

"She is the same age as the other Joan of Arc," whispered the soldier, as if he was in a daze. "She can weld a sword better than any soldier, and cut through us as if she is cutting a slice of bread! The French do not call her Joan of Arc. They call her '_Jeanne le sauveur_'. Joan the Saviour. I heard that she is also from the same place as Joan of Arc. Can you believe it?"

"The French are making up rumours. Nothing more."

"Are you sure, Lord Dorset?"

"What evidence is there to prove she is real?"

"Have you noticed the weather change, Lord Dorset? When we arrived in France, it was grey and dark and rainy. Like England. Now, it is sunny. For France. What do we tell His Grace? If we run away, we will be seen as traitors and cowards! If we stay, we get slaughtered by le Sauveur."

"Rather die an honourable death than a traitorous one."

"I have family back in England-"

"We all do."

"Forgive me, Lord Dorset, but you are a nobleman. You will be buried grandly and your memory will be remembered. Me? I will be buried in a common grave and forgotten. My family will never know if I am dead or alive, and they will die in destitution. You are betrothed to the King's own niece for reasons I do not care about, but I married my Maud for love and joining our family lands together. I will not let her grieve and worry as I die fighting the King's hopeless battle against le Sauveur. Unless the King shows up and fights alongside us, I see myself as a traitor already. Dying on the battlefield isn't honour for a common soldier like me. It is dying alone."

"You speak treason!"

"What will you do? Tell His Grace?" He smiled mockingly. "I rather die a coward than fighting for a king who gained the Devil's daughter as his mistress."

"Just go," said Suffolk from behind Dorset. "If you do not wish to fight, just go home. I too wish to be with my family back in England rather than here. I certainly do not want your family to worry and not know if you are alive or dead."

"What?" said Dorset, surprised.

"Are you certain, Your Grace?" said the soldier uncertainly.

"Yes," said Suffolk flatly. "I will announce to the other soldiers that those who wish to return to England may, and those who stay here will be honoured with knighthoods and more pay once we conquer this _Jeanne le Sauveur_. The King said that whatever I want, I will receive, and those who want to go home will leave on the first available ship. There is no point having you here if you do not have the heart to fight a woman, or if your honour and pride is at stake. Dorset, you will go back with them. It was a mistake to bring you here. When you return home, you will marry my daughter straight away. It isn't punishment. It is to keep you safe."

Dorset nodded reluctantly. "What do we do about _le Sauveur?_"

"Do not worry about her," said Suffolk, determined. "I will deal with her. I will finish off those Frenchmen like how I finish off my bread for breakfast. Once we have our walk of triumph with _le Sauveur_ in chains, the French will never raise a finger against us again."

* * *

**The Joan of Arc-ish part is specially for IOU1882. The next scene in France will most likely be in the French perspective :) Please read and review! **


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

**October, 1533**

Mary sat expressionlessly in the carriage, not flinching as it jostled over the bumps and cracks in the road. She was not in a good mood.

Across her, Jane Seymour sat demurely.

She fidgeted with a handkerchief nervously, as thoughts buzzed busily in her mind.

She had been the one sent to Lancaster Castle to inform the Duchess and Princess Royal the scandalous news of Jane Parker.

She had been the one offering the Princess Royal handkerchief after handkerchief as she cried sorrowfully at the news.

She had been the one chosen to accompany the heartbroken princess back to Richmond Castle where she will hear the news from George's lips.

Catherine of Aragon was more than enraged at George Boleyn.

"Are you married, Mistress Jane?" said Mary suddenly.

"Pardon, Your Highness?" said Jane, looking up uncertainly. "I am not married. I had a suitor once, Sir William Dormer. His parents decided to break the betrothal and marry him to a Sidney girl. Apparently I am not good enough for him. I suppose in a couple of years, if I do not find a husband, I will join a convent, with my father's permission of course. I do not think I can attract a man in any way possible. Your mother, the Duchess, has strong royal blood, and Queen Anne is beautiful and witty."

"Nonsense, Mistress Jane! You are kind, loyal and obedient. Qualities a man will certainly look for when deciding on a bride. How did you find out about Mistress Parker's marriage to George Boleyn? I do not think the entire court knows about it!"

"I suppose you can call it bad timing, Your Highness. My sister Elizabeth (Lady Ughtred), was walking and overheard the conversation. She told my brother, Sir Edward Seymour, and he immediately instructed me to inform you and the Duchess of Lancaster before court gossip reaches your ears."

"Thank you, Mistress Jane. Your loyalty will be rewarded."

"It is nothing, Your Highness. Truly."

"What do you think will happen?"

"What do you mean, Your Highness?"

"Will George agree to remain married to Jane Parker or to me? God is displeased. That is why my two children were taken away from me."

"The Almighty has his plans for all of us, Your Highness. From the King, down to any hardworking farmer on the fields. You will have many children. I know you will."

"You can call me 'Mary'."

"I cannot, Your Highness! It is improper of me!" She looked horrified.

Mary laughed lightly. "Come Jane! You have proven your loyalty to me! What is it that you want? As the King's daughter, I have some influence in court. Do you want land? gold? titles? I'm sure your brother would have wanted something!"

Jane thought for a moment.

"I will not ask on my brother's behalf," she said quietly. "He did not witness the scene and did not come here to tell you the news himself. I only wish for a position in Your Highness's household as a lady-in-waiting, nothing more."

"That you will have," said Mary warmly. "I value friendship more than I value wealth. Your sister-in-law, Lady Seymour? She is in the Queen's service?"

"Yes Your Highness."

"Why didn't you or your sisters join the Queen's household?"

"The Queen said she only had enough room for one Seymour and chose Dorothy. To compensate, she managed to convince Sir Anthony Ughtred to marry Elizabeth."

"Oh. You can tell Lady Ughtred that she is welcome to join my service as a lady-in-waiting when she wishes. I believe she has a child now?"

"Yes, Your Highness. A boy, Henry. Is that not a glorious thought, Your Highness? One of my greatest desires is to marry, have children and raise them in the countryside. Being at court is never particularly agreeable with me, nor I with it. Often lords and ladies mistaken me for a milkmaid or scullery maid, as I do not have gowns befitting a courtier."

"Does your father not purchase you clothes?"

"Oh he does, Your Highness! It is always behind in fashion, and never as fine as the other ladies' gowns. I am not complaining, Your Highness. I am grateful for it. Can you keep a secret, Your Highness?"

"Of course." Mary looked puzzled.

"Us Seymours are not as wealthy as other families, and we do not have enough wealth to pay for new gowns. Most of the money went to Elizabeth for her dowry, or Dorothy's gowns, as she is part of the Queen's household and requires bright, expensive dresses. I actually consider joining a convent. It will save my father so much trouble."

"I will talk to the King about it."

"You do not-"

"I _insist_, Mistress Jane. I rather hear the news from you than court gossip. Oh, we are almost there. I hope that matter is sorted before we arrive." She shuddered as the vision of the smug-faced Jane Parker clutching George's arm projected in her mind.

The carriage halted and Mary immediately opened the door and jumped out in a rather unladylike manner, Jane following him.

She walked quickly into the palace, straight for the King's chambers.

The guards instantly opened the doors and she went in.

"Mary," said the King, glancing at her. "Perfect timing! I suppose you heard the news?"

"Yes," said Mary, coldly glaring at George. "Is it true? Is the Marquess of Ormond truly married to me or is he married to Mistress Jane Parker?"

"Jane Parker will not trouble the two of you anymore," Anne replied. "She was never married to George, and if she was, she is not anymore. She signed the divorce papers just in case. In return, she will be given the title 'Viscountess Lovell', marry Sir John Dudley and her future sons will all be earls. However, she will remain in Kenilworth Castle or any other Dudley residence away from court. She will not be allowed back unless it is formal occasions or if she is summoned."

Mary frowned slightly.

"She is rewarded for keeping a secret like this?!" she asked.

"We had to," said George helplessly. "There is nothing else for us to do! I love you Mary! I do not want to be married to a crone like Jane Parker! She wanted a higher title than viscountess, but we managed to compromise for her to remain a viscountess!"

"With her sons being earls? What about the children we will have?! One of our future sons will be in line to be a marquess and the rest only can hope to be knights! I will not have my children take second place to Jane Parker's earl sons!"

"Our future sons will never take second place to her future sons."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"What?" said George, taken back.

"Did you sleep with her?" repeated Mary, her hands on her hips.

The King tried not to laugh as he saw his seventeen year old daughter glare at George like a jealous wife of fifteen years.

"I...I..." stammered George, blushing rapidly. "I..."

"You did!" Mary accused him. "By God! Have we been living in sin for the couple of years?! Is that why our children are dying? Oh God! Did you and Jane Parker plan to murder our two children?! Did you have a child with her?!"

"According to her, we had a son-"

"A SON?! You and your...your wife had a...a son?! No wonder you want my children dead!" Tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. It almost broke George completely. "Is he old enough to claim his right as your son?!"

"No! Of course not! He is three years old!"

"Three? Oh my God...you were betrothed to her back then..." Mary ran out, not caring about the inquisitive stares of passing courtiers. She wished she was the son her father always wanted. Then he would never had divorced her and married Anne! She had lied to herself. Chapuys had been right all this time. The Boleyns were snakes, the whole lot of them. George married her to increase his courtly status, not because he loved her!

How could she be so blind?!

"Your Highness!"

She stopped and anger boiled up.

Hurrying up to her was George's..._wife_, Jane Parker.

"Mistress Parker," Mary managed to say instead of snapping at her. "Should you not be with...with your husband? He is waiting for you."

"Lord Ormond isn't my husband," said Jane Parker awkwardly. "I signed the divorce papers. You are Lady Ormond now."

"I am Princess Mary Tudor, the Princess Royal of England and Princess of Lancaster! Mind your tongue, Mistress Parker! I do not care that you have signed the divorce papers! You have a son! He will always threaten the legitimacy of my own! I may not even be truly married to Lord Ormond thanks to you! There is nothing you can say or do that can make up for this! Stay away from me! I do not ever want to see you again! Good day!" She stalked off.

"Your Highness! I will give you my boy!"

"What?!" Mary halted, disgusted. "What makes you think I want your son?"

"A sign of good faith, Your Highness. I love him as a mother should, but I will be Lady Jane Dudley in a couple of days and mother to Sir John's four children. It will hurt me more than anything in the word to be separated from my Thomas."

"What does that have to do with me having your Thomas as my ward? Who knows?! George may prefer him over his own children with me. No. I do not want your...your bastard in my household!"

"Mary!"

Both women looked and saw George approaching them.

"We need to talk," he said directly to Mary, holding out his hand.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you?" she spat viciously back at him. "You wouldn't allow my mother to marry the man she loves, and I find out from Jane Seymour that you were already married to another woman before our marriage, and the two of you already have a SON!"

"Go," he said shortly to Jane Parker. "Get out."

Jane Parker nodded and departed.

"I know you don't trust me or my family at the moment," he whispered, grabbing Mary's arm. "But believe me. I am sorry for everything. I will never keep secrets from you. I didn't even know if I was truly married to her or not! Her son is nothing to me. As far as I know, he could be her son by another man. I need you to come with me now."

"Why?" said Mary suspiciously.

"Trust me. You will love me for it. I promise you will not regret coming with me."

"Fine."

"Good. Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"You have to trust me Mary. I promise nothing will happen to you."

With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Mary took his hand and the two of them walked into the courtyard with blank expressions, showing no sign that cracks began appearing in their marriage.

* * *

Even though it was getting late, Catherine knew with confidence that George would convince Mary to go with him to Middleham Castle.

She herself paced in one of the dusty, unused chambers in a rich gown of red, her hair twisted in an elegant bun, adorned with a silver diadem.

"You look beautiful," said Anne, who had arrived an hour ago, her skirt splattered with mud from her rush. "His Excellency is a lucky man to marry you. Lady Willoughby is here, so is my sister and one of your ladies, a Lady Elizabeth Darrell. They agreed to be your witnesses and guests. The King did not suspect my hasty departure, as he is still infatuated with that whore of his. Oh, and Margaret Pole, 8th Countess of Salisbury will be here shortly."

A smile broke on Catherine's face.

"Margaret Pole will be here?!" she said, delighted at meeting her old friend again. "How did you contact her so quickly?"

"She asked about you," said Anne, glad to see Catherine so happy. "We talked in court and she said she wished to see you again. I gave her permission and told her to come here today. I'm certain Mary will be delighted to see her old governess again."

"You are full of surprises Anne."

"Thank you."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"'The Most Happy'? I take it that you have taken those words as your motto? You are now queen of England, and you have a bonny daughter. You have the man that you love and I suppose a family that cares for you. You are also in your homeland."

"To be honest...no. I suspect you know I never really wanted to become queen. My uncle and father were more keen for me to be. Being a courtier was more interesting than being queen. I had more freedom and less pressure. I was more...reckless back then. I didn't know what it was like in your position, struggling to have a son and having all that pressure. Now I do. I was rude to you and spoke outrageous lies about you. Now, I respect you."

"Respect is earnt. Plain words mean nothing. You know this."

"Do you accept Elizabeth?"

"She is your daughter, not mine."

"Do you accept my Elizabeth as heiress after your Mary?"

That was a question Anne desperately wanted a honest answer to.

"Yes," said Catherine softly. "She was born in a legal marriage. Nothing about her birth suggests sin or illegitimacy. I accept her as a princess of England and second-in-line to the throne. However, if your uncle dares to put her forward as heiress apparent if you fail to conceive a son, we never had this conversation and if we are friends, we will be no more."

Anne nodded with understanding.

"Do you hope to have children with Chapuys?" said Anne, changing the subject. "Mary is all grown up and married already."

"I always want children," said Catherine longingly. "Every time I became pregnant, hope would rise, even after four failed pregnancies. Mary was my joy. She was everything to me."

"There is always a chance you can fall pregnant again."

"No...I doubt that. I am old and infertile. I don't think Chapuys expects children from this marriage. He had written to the Emperor and we are still waiting his response."

"I am certain you can still have children. Your mother had five."

"Would you not worry if I have children?"

"No. If it makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. Children are everything to us women." Anne smiled at Catherine, who smiled back.

"Your Highness," said Maria de Salinas, appearing at the door. "Oh, Your Majesty. I didn't know you were here." She scowled a little. "Lady Salisbury is here. So is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal and her...husband, the Marquess of Ormond. Shall I summon them here?"

"Yes," said Catherine, giving her a warning look. "Is the Princess's gown prepared? I doubt she brought her own dress with her."

"It is ready," answered Maria. "I will fetch them right away."

Ignoring Anne, she curtsied to Catherine as if she was the queen and left, tossing her brown hair back as she exited Catherine's chambers.

Catherine is getting too soft, thought Maria as she trudged down the stairs, hearing squeals of happiness as Mary saw her former governess. She is befriending her rival! First, she gives up defending her rights as queen consort, now she says she supports that whore's bastard daughter as a royal princess and second-in-line to the throne! Unbelievable! The King has ruined her mentally! Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks, I will find my Queen Catherine dining with the Boleyns and discussing politics and baby names. Ugh, I cannot even think of that. My Queen Catherine will never demean herself that low! It is good she is happy with Chapuys, but those Boleyns must go!

"Your Highness," she said to Mary and obviously ignoring George. "Her Highness, your lady mother, requests you in her chambers. You too Lady Salisbury, and you, Lord Ormond."

"Is this the surprise?" said Mary, turning to George, a smile on her face. "Did you take me here to see my old governess, Lady Salisbury?"

"I actually didn't know she was here," admitted George.

"What is it then?" said Mary, her hatred towards George vanishing.

"A surprise is a surprise," said George, a smile lingering on his lips. "Come, your mother is waiting. We cannot keep her waiting for us, can we?"

Mary nodded and the two of them-with Lady Salisbury and Maria de Salinas-ascended the stairs and walked to Catherine's chambers.

"Anne!" said Mary, surprised, once the doors opened. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Richmond Castle, supervising court festivities, or whatever you do? Oh, and you have the Jane Parker affair to settle down too."

She caught a glimpse of her mother in a beautiful dress and gasped.

Everything clicked in place.

It was her mother's wedding day.

Her secret wedding.

Organised by Anne.

And George.

"Mary," said Catherine, embracing her. "I am so glad you can come! I know you are still angry at George, but Anne did not know about Jane Parker and her lies. She honestly didn't. If you want to remain angry with George, you can, but not today. For me? I am finally getting married to an honest man, and without Anne, I do not think I can manage that."

"I believe you," said Mary, smiling gratefully at Anne over Catherine's shoulder. "Thank you Anne. If I upset you in anyway, I apologise for them. Congratulations mother! I hope you have a prosperous marriage with Chapuys. You see, I am pregnant again."

"You are?" said George, delighted. "That is wonderful news!"

"It is!" agreed Anne.

"We must keep it quiet," spoke Lady Salisbury wisely. "I heard the unfortunate incidents about your last two pregnancies. If what you think is true, the rest of the court must not know about this. How far are you along, Princess Mary?"

"Three months," replied Mary.

"You can remain at court for another two months before your bump begins showing. I suggest you leave for Lancaster Castle to remain with your mother. She has loyal servants that will keep your pregnancy a secret. Besides, no one will dare try and poison you at Lancaster Castle."

"You have a point, Lady Salisbury. I do miss your counsel!"

"My counsel, Princess? You were a young girl when I left your service! I am willing to give my advice to you anyway. Shall we talk after the wedding ceremony?"

"Of course!"

With the experience of two royal weddings, Catherine confidently walked down the stairs to the chapel, her eyes sparkling with absolute happiness and contentment. Behind her, Anne and Lady Salisbury followed, themselves proceeding Mary (who had quickly changed into the beautiful dress her mother and Anne provided her) and George, the two of holding hands.

Already in the chapel, Chapuys smiled nervously as he caught a glimpse of Catherine in her stunning wedding dress. Lady Salisbury's son, Cardinal Reginald Pole had secretly come to England from Rome to marry the couple. He was one of those who vigorously championed Catherine's rights as queen and refused to acknowledge Anne as queen.

The young choir boys sung the familiar songs of the church before Cardinal Pole began the wedding

vows. Mary's smile never left her face as Catherine and Chapuys answered with confident 'I dos'.

Finally, the happy couple kissed and Mary's heart flew out to them.

"Do you forgive me now?" whispered George, squeezing Mary's hand lovingly. "Your mother's happy, Chapuys is happy, Anne is happy, you are happy…"

"Yes, I forgive you," said Mary, kissing him on the lips.

"I see you two are making up," said Anne, watching them, a smile hovering on her lips. "We are heading towards the wedding feast. Will you be joining us or do you want a moment alone?"

"A moment alone please," said Mary, her eyes glued to George's. "If you do not mind. George and I...we have matters to discuss." She kissed him again, knowing that she had definitely made the right choice marrying him those years ago.

Anne smiled at herself and went to the feast cheerfully.

There were rumours that Middleham Castle was cursed.

It was the home of Richard III of England, the last Yorkist king. His wife, Queen Anne Neville had given birth to their short-lived son, Prince Edward, there. Celebrations hadn't been held in that castle for quite a while, and Catherine's third wedding feast brightened the mood of the abandoned royal castle. She took her place beside the excited bride and the two smiled at each other.

"We are friends," said Catherine, pouring Anne a goblet of her favourite wine. "Forever till our deaths. If you ever need me, I will be there. I promise."

* * *

**Out of interest (maybe for a future chapter), do you reckon the King should give Princess Elizabeth a title? Please read and review! :) Oh, if you have time, maybe read and review IOU1882's Tudor story ****_Stars Are Bound To Change_****? Reviews are always encouragement and fuel for us writers! :) **


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter XII

**May, 1534**

For the third time in three years of marriage, Mary groaned in pain as she heaved and pushed to bring out the child from her womb.

Please God, she prayed. _Give me strength._

George waited outside impatiently with Catherine and Anne. For five months, Mary had hid in Lancaster Castle, away from the prying eyes and ears of the court. When bouts of illness attacked her, Anne explained to inquisitive courtiers that it was nothing more than passing fevers.

When her bump began to obviously show, she departed instantly for Lancaster Castle. The courtiers assumed that Catherine was ill and as the caring and loving daughter, Mary instantly went to be by her sick mother's side. It was a lie, but a commonly believed one.

When Ann requested permission to visit Lancaster Castle, the King readily gave it, advising her to take care, as she was too, with child.

"What do you want?" asked Anne. "A son or daughter?"

"I do not care," said George, his eyes stuck to the door that separated him from his beloved Mary. "As long as the child is healthy and my Mary is well. If it is a son, the King, Uncle Norfolk and our father is appeased. If a daughter, I will love her as much as if she is a son. I hope nothing will go wrong this time. I mean…like, we aren't cursed anymore, are we? Our marriage isn't in sin. No one else knew that Mary was pregnant when we were at court, and our uncle didn't place spies in my chambers. He had me to keep an eye on Mary if needed. How is the royal prince in your womb?"

"Growing," said Anne, placing a hand protectively over her stomach. "I can feel him kick from time to time. He is a strong lad, this one. The first I was poisoned and the second I had a girl. I can feel that this child is the perfect boy. The healthy Tudor prince the King wants."

"Do you think my child will take my name?"

"George?"

"No. I meant family name."

"Of course. She (or he) is your child! Why wouldn't he (or she)?"

"The child is the King's grandchild. Even if you have a son, he would still worry over the blasted succession. If Mary has a son, something tells me that he will want him to be raised away from us and to take the last name 'Tudor'. He will also be…a protestant."

"Oh. Mary and Catherine will want the child to be a Catholic. What about you? Do you want your own child to be a Catholic or Protestant?"

"I honestly do not care. If Mary wants the child to be raised a Catholic, so be it. However, I will insist the child will be tolerant to those of other religions, if he…ever becomes king." His last words tumbled out of his mouth in a mumble.

Anne's lips tightened, but she said nothing.

Old Anne would be outraged, but new Anne?

"Your Majesty," said the midwife, coming out with sweat slicked all over her forehead and hands. "Your Royal Highness, My Lord Ormond. Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal, has survived the ordeal. She has given birth to a healthy girl."

Inwardly, Anne sighed in relief, but she congratulated George and Catherine all the same. She even tossed a heavy pouch of coins at the midwife for her good work.

"Mary," said George, rushing in to his wife's chambers. "You are well! The midwife said you had given birth to a daughter!"

"Are you happy?" said Mary, a little worried. "I know it isn't a boy-"

"I am content with a daughter!"

"Really?" she brightened up considerably.

"Yes. A daughter is worth twice as many jewels I own. So this little rose is a Katherine as planned? She seems healthier than poor Jane and Thomas."

"I believe this child will live. I don't know how I can tell, but I know. She will be our eldest surviving daughter. I just know. I think it is mother's intuition or something." She furrowed her brow. "Ever since I was young, I always believed my eldest daughter would be named after my mother. I didn't know who I would marry, but I always knew my eldest daughter would be either a Catalina, a Catherine, a Catarina, a Catharina...so many translations for my mother's name."

"Well, she is a Katherine now. A beautiful English rose. Just like her mother."

"I am probably being selfish here, but I always thought I would be mother of princes and princesses and the wife of a duke, king or prince."

"You are not being selfish! You were raised to be the wife of a duke, king or prince. Between you and me, you are my queen of hearts and the mother of our little princess. Have you thought of godparents for little Katherine yet?"

"My mother?"

"Quite fitting. I was thinking of...Chapuys."

"Really?" Mary looked at him curiously.

George nodded, rocking his healthy daughter gently.

"I couldn't think of any other candidates," he explained a little guiltily. "My uncle will be outraged at the idea of being godfather to a daughter, and my father will not be pleased at the secrecy of this. The King will refuse to be godfather to a girl as well. Chapuys had always been loyal to you and I think he deserves the honour of being godfather. None of my friends are suitable to be godfather either. If you don't want him to be godfather of-"

"No," interrupted Mary, kissing him on her cheek. "He is perfect. My mother and Chapuys will be the perfect godparents for our Katherine."

"Mary!" said Catherine, running in, followed by Anne and Chapuys.

"Mother," said Mary, with a big, tired smile.

"Congratulations! You have a lovely daughter! I cannot be any prouder! What did you name her?"

"Katherine. After you, dear mother. Without you, I would not even be here. You have done everything for me, and I appreciate it now. Even when I thought you had given up on me by signing the divorce documents, you haven't. You wanted me safe and well."

"I will never give up on you Mary. You are my daughter, and little Katherine is now my granddaughter, with George as my son-in-law. Anne is family. We are certainly enemies no longer. Have you heard what the King plans to do in France?"

"Conquer more land?"

"The French are rebelling under a peasant called Jeanne le sauveur."

"Another Joan of Arc."

"He is planning to sail to France himself and fight. What if he dies? You will be queen. Unless Anne has a son of course."

"That I will have," added Anne, determined. "Of course if I have another daughter (which is highly unlikely), I will support Mary as queen in her own right, and both Elizabeth and my hypothetical daughter will be hers to do as please when it comes to marriage."

"Really?" said George, surprised.

"Of course!" replied Anne. "If Mary becomes queen, they are her pawns to play."

Catherine nodded approvingly.

"Chapuys," said Mary, catching Chapuys before he could slip away. "George and I want you to be godfather to Katherine. Will you consent?"

All eyes turned to Chapuys.

"Of course, Princess Mary," he said politely. "Anything for you. It will be an honour for me to be godfather to the little…princess." He faltered a little.

Anne glared at him unintentionally.

"What?" defended Chapuys. "Mary is a princess, as is Catherine before her. Do you expect me to call the Catholic Monarchs' great granddaughter 'Lady Katherine'? No. She is a princess by blood! She is as much a princess as Mary…and Elizabeth."

Anne brightened considerably as he mentioned Elizabeth's royal status.

She remained uncertain that the English people would accept Elizabeth as a princess, let alone other monarchs! She was certain that Charles V and his allies refused to accept Elizabeth as a legitimate heiress to the throne or a princess of England. She guessed they called Elizabeth 'the Whore's Child' and celebrated once they heard the news from their respective ambassadors that she had presented the King and England with a daughter rather than the much sought for son. Now that Chapuys properly acknowledged Elizabeth as a princess, matters to her favour will follow. Of course she wouldn't kill Mary, but what if she died?

Would the people accept Elizabeth over baby Katherine?

Technically they are both infants, mused Anne as her eyes fixed themselves on Chapuys. However, wouldn't the daughter of the King be more royal than a granddaughter of the King?

"She will be our little princess," said George quickly. "However, in court, she will be Lady Katherine Boleyn unless spoken otherwise. Alright?"

The others nodded in agreement-some more grudgingly than others.

"We have bigger problems at play," spoke Anne. "We must return to court. The King will not like our absence in court. How will he be told about baby Katherine and Catherine and Chapuys's marriage? He will hate the idea we kept secrets from him."

"We can say we didn't want to announce the news in case of further poisoning?" proposed George. "It may work. As for Chapuys and Catherine, we can say that an hour after Mary gave birth, they married quietly in the chapel. The King said that they could marry once Mary has a child. Well, she did and they by his own permission, could marry."

"There might be a little problem," said Catherine uncomfortably. "It is a great plan and all, but before Mary's pains began, I consulted a physician. I'm pregnant."

* * *

Muttering with admiration and disgust, the French soldiers trudged through the dry terrains, the heat firing their spirits and mood.

"...Bah, taking orders from a woman..."

"...Not a woman, _mon ami_...a girl..."

"...A peasant..."

Marching confidently at the head of the army between two guards and two standard bearers holding the flags of France was the illiterate peasant girl, _Jeanne 'le sauveur_'. Her rough hands grasped the shiny sword gifted to her by His Majesty, the King of France himself.

With a little less than half of the French army under her control, Jeanne had slowly began regaining French territory from the horrid Englishmen. Everywhere she went with the French army behind her, she reignited fresh hope into the French people.

"Can we rest, _sauveur?_" said a standard bearer Michel wearily.

"Rest?" said Jeanne, tilting her head a little as she continued walking. "_Monsieur!_ You are a _chevalier_ from a good family! You wish to rest when French land is still in the hands of those foreigners?! Non! I will not rest until every inch of French soil returns to the good hands of our great king! I can walk for many miles since I was a child. I am not tired at all. As you like to keep reminding me, I am just a fille, and if I can walk without being tired, you men can do better! We will keep walking until we reach the borders of Beauvais. Then half the troops will go with me to Picardy while the rest head to Rouen. The King's soldiers will meet them there for open battle against the English."

"Very well, _sauveur_. As a note, the soldiers look tired, and if you do not want a revolt against you, I suggest we rest for a few minutes."

"You should see the farmers work all day. They do not complain all the time."

"Are you comparing me to...to _un agriculteur crasseux?_ A filthy farmer?! I am a chevalier! If you want to fight the English on your own, so be it! I am telling you, if you want us to fight the English and win, give us time to rest! We are not bloody farmers!"

Jeanne stopped, a soldier almost crashing into her.

"We are having a break!" she called to the soldiers. "Five minutes!"

The soldiers sighed with relief and some almost stumbled to the ground to rest.

Michel smirked.

"This is not a laughing matter, Monsieur Michel!" said Jeanne crossly. "We are wasting valuable time just sitting here! The English could be preparing and rallying their troops as we speak! It will not be good if we lose against them with a larger army! I do not want another Battle of Agincourt! One Agincourt affair is humiliating enough, but two! France would be the laughing stock of all of Christendom! Those English swine will pay!"

"The King will be pleased at your devotion to France," Michel remarked.

"I was born French, I am French and I will die French. I am a Catholic and always will be Catholic. Those English pigs are not only savage, but heretics!"

"Oh, _sauveur!_ Please tell me you will not turn this into a religious battle! We here are all loyal Catholics, but I rather fight a war for spoils than fight for the good of religion."

"Come on men! March forward! Resting is over!" She shot him a warning look, ignoring all the groaning and complaining from the exhausted soldiers. "We must reach the borders today by sundown or we will lose the advantage! As we walk, the English are expecting us to be still at Paris. The messenger will not be fast, but we cannot dally and allow time to escape from our fingers like sand! March forth men! For the honour and glory of France!"

She raised her sword and began walking, the soldiers following suit.

They hated obeying orders from a mere peasant girl, but secretly, they all knew she was a strong, capable and confident leader who would bring them victory.

* * *

"Your Majesty. May I present to you your new granddaughter, Lady Katherine Boleyn?"

The King dropped the bundle of military papers with a thud.

"What?" he said, not believing his ears. "Mary, when were you ever pregnant? George, what on earth is she talking about?"

"Mary was pregnant, Your Majesty," said George patiently. "She had given birth to a bonny daughter in Lancaster Castle. We named her Katherine, after Mary's grandmother as planned. The Duchess Catherine and His Excellency will be her godparents."

"A granddaughter...?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like to hold her?"

Speechless, the King allowed Mary to place a gurgling Katherine in his arms. Beside him with a protective hand around her stomach, Anne smiled at them.

"A granddaughter..." murmured the King, his eyes misty with a thin layer of tears. "It would be more precious if it was a boy, but what can you expect from being descended from Catherine? Fitting that you named her 'Katherine'."

Mary refrained herself from rolling her eyes.

"We have more news," said George, clearing his throat. "After Mary gave birth to Katherine, Chapuys and the Duchess of Lancaster married quietly in the chapel in Lancaster Castle with me, Lady Willoughby, Lady Carey, Lady Darrell, Lady Salisbury and the Queen present. You said they may marry once Mary presents me a child."

The King frowned slowly.

Suddenly, he chuckled. "You are right, my boy! I believe I did say that! Chapuys! Where is that wily man?! Chapuys!"

Chapuys stepped forward with a bow.

"I believe you will remain in the Emperor's service?" inquired the King.

"I do not think so," answered Chapuys. "The Emperor was not particularly pleased at the news that I married his aunt. I will resign immediately."

"In that case, you can be my ambassador to Spain and the Holy Roman Empire! Upon your marriage to the Duchess of Lancaster, I neutralise you as an English subject and will give you the title 'Earl of Lancaster', a title you will be able to grant to any child you have with Catherine. I hope I see you more often here in court now, rather than skulking off! You will also have a place in the council. I bless you a happy marriage with the Duchess of Lancaster."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am honoured to be your ambassador."

"I am certain you will speak for England rather than Spain now, eh?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. Now England is my country and you are my lord. The Holy Roman Emperor is

no longer my master and Spain is no longer my country. I will be ah, pleased to serve you."

"Excellent! Excellent! You will make a fine godfather for Katherine."

"I hope so. Your Majesty." He turned to Anne. "I hope all is well with the little prince growing in your belly. We all pray for a prince of course."

"Naturally," said Anne agreeably. "Our little prince will arrive in the world in a couple more months and will join Elizabeth in Hatfield House. The King and I both decided that Hatfield is the best place to raise young children. Fresh air, comfort..."

"Along with Guillame of course," added the King, to Anne's chagrin. "Siblings must be raised together rather than separated. A mistake my father made. He separated my late brother Arthur from the rest of us, and now look what happened! He's dead. I've decided that all my children will eat, play and be educated together as they should."

"What about Katherine?" asked Anne. "Will she join them in Hatfield?"

"What?" said Mary, taken back.

"Will Katherine join Elizabeth in Hatfield? They are only a year apart."

"I have not thought of that...I assumed Katherine would be raised in Lancaster Castle with my mother, or in Grimston Manor in the countryside."

"Oh that cannot do! Poor Katherine will be bored without company her own age! It will most likely be what it was like being raised and educated in a convent."

"Katherine is an infant…"

"You were raised away from your mother, were you not?"

Mary was silent.

"Katherine should go to Hatfield," urged Catherine. "I am nothing but an old woman. A child will find no joy being with me. Trust me Mary. Katherine will be happier in Hatfield with Elizabeth. The two girls can grow close to each other eventually."

"We can visit her at any time," said George, soothing Mary of any fears she may have. "I'm sure Elizabeth wishes for company too."

"She has company," interjected the King, annoyed none of them mentioned his illegitimate son. "My boy, Guillame. Besides, they are still babes in the cradle. Katherine will join them and be given the proper treatment suited to the royal granddaughter of the King. She will have precedence over every lady in Hatfield with the exception of Elizabeth. When we visit Hatfield, the Queen, Mary, Catherine and Elizabeth will have precedence over her."

"Naturally," agreed George.

"Alright," said Mary reluctantly. "Katherine will be raised with Princess Elizabeth and Guillame. Will they be well protected?"

"Of course!" said the King, shocked. "I will not have my own children in danger! Why do you doubt the amount of protection I put upon them?!"

"I have been poisoned during pregnancy before, and my second child died within hours. I rather Katherine in a safe place where guards cannot be bribed and where I can trust her nursemaids. Someone wants my children dead, and I will not accept another child dead."

"Perhaps they are feeble and not strong enough to survive the weather?"

"Someone wants my children dead!"

"It was misfortune, nothing more. Children die young."

He shot Catherine an accusing look.

"Someone wants my children dead," repeated Mary stubbornly. "If you want Katherine in Hatfield, I want to decide the governess, nursemaids, ladies and guards."

"Mary!" said the King, slowly losing his temper. "You should be honoured that your daughter will be educated alongside a royal princess! You should not be complaining about protection! No one bloody wants your children dead! It is you who is too weak to bring strong children into the world! Your mother could not do it and you cannot do it! By God! Either you willingly bring Katherine to Hatfield, or I will forcibly remove her there!"

Mary grabbed baby Katherine from the King's arms, curtsied and stalked off angrily.

In an extremely good mood and strutting through the corridors like a proud peacock, Norfolk's smile

was wiped off his face as he caught sight of Mary rushing to her chambers, a wailing infant cradled in her arms. An…infant?

"What on earth…?" he muttered, striding quickly to the King's chambers for a good explanation.

Cromwell had assured him that Mary would be barren and have no children! The first was a weakling, the second he aided to God's domain, and now a third?

Why had he not been told?!

Anne had a lot of explaining to do…

"Your Majesties," said Norfolk, bowing. "On my way here, I noticed that the Princess Royal is carrying a child with her! I assumed the Queen had given birth a few months to early!"

"Ah, Norfolk!" said the King heartily, unaware of Anne's sudden stiffness. "I was wondering when you will ask about that! As you can see, my wife is still pregnant and had not went into labour yet. However, I was gifted with a granddaughter! The Princess Royal had given me a healthy daughter and you a great niece! Finally Mary proved she was capable of having living children. I was wondering if those Trastamara Spaniards were cursed with infertility."

"That would be incorrect, Your Majesty. The Princess Royal's maternal aunt Queen Juana of Castile and Aragon had six children, while her other maternal aunt Maria, Queen of Portugal had around nine or ten I think. Congratulations on your granddaughter, Your Majesty."

"Thank you Norfolk. Another Boleyn girl, eh? They seem to be thriving at court, along with your Howard girls. I suppose I will have to find young Katherine a husband soon."

Norfolk nodded politely.

"There are more important matters at stake, Your Majesty," he said, producing a scroll of paper. "I ordered a secret investigation of whether there is a French spy amongst us. Unfortunately, I found there is, and there is substantial evidence determining it to be Isabelle, your _reine de Picardie_."

* * *

**So...Anne is pregnant. I already wrote the next chapter and it's ready to go, but what do you think? Girl or boy? ;) Please read and review! :) **


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

**August, 1534**

For three months, the King allowed various nobles to investigate the movements of his French mistress, his love for her diminishing every day.

The results were expectedly disappointing.

"We read her letters," explained Norfolk, throwing a bunch of them onto the table. "They were addressed to her children, but if you examine it closer, you can see it is actually secret messages to the King of France!" He smiled triumphantly at his discovery.

"What does it say?" said the King, learning forward with interest. "I never invited her to council meetings, and the doors are always guarded. She never had the chance to eavesdrop properly. Do these letters reveal anything?"

"It is our military plans, Your Majesty. Quite detailed too."

"Bloody woman! How do you know it is to that traitor king?"

"It is written to her son, Francois, but that boy is more a puppet than a military leader. It also makes more sense that it is addressed to the French king. What will be done, Your Majesty? Will Madame Isabelle de Luil be escorted to the Tower?"

"Not yet. I want to know how she discovers our military plans without entering my chambers. She mustn't be told of this."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I will let you deal with this matter."

"Good."

"Is there anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Send reinforcements to Picardy. French troops have surrounded it and he needs aid. Food and fresh water must be sent to Suffolk as well. I rather a town of healthy French rebels rather than a town of starving Frenchmen who die within days. I am planning to send English wool makers to Picardy, that way wool production can speed up. I will not be the fool who lost Picardy. Tell Suffolk that if he fails to keep Picardy English, he will be thrown in the Tower and executed the next day."

"Your Majesty, you are aware that His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk is your brother-in-law?"

"Yes. However, I had left him in charge and if he dares bring England more shame and ruin, I will have him executed. My sister Mary is only thirty nine, and I can marry her off to any man I find fit. She is still attractive, and with a grand dowry, a worthy prize to any prince indeed."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will write to him at once."

Uncomfortably, Norfolk left for his own chambers.

He and Suffolk never seen matters clearly from eye to eye, but Suffolk had his dear wife and four children waiting for him here in England. He wondered if it would be worth seeing one of his enemies fall to the ground.

Both Suffolk and Cromwell were great political enemies, and it was always pleasurable to see a nemesis fall with his head rolling down the hill, but he needed Suffolk's support in agreeing to a match between his youngest daughter, Lady Katharine Howard (eleven years old) and Suffolk's youngest son, Lord William Brandon, who was about the same age.

Even though he wished his daughter married to Suffolk's heir, the eighteen year old Henry Brandon, Earl of Lincoln, he was aware that the boy was betrothed to Maria de Salinas's daughter, Catharine Willoughby, 12th Baroness Willoughby de Eresby.

Ah well, a second son would have to do.

Besides, as the King's nephew, young William Brandon would most likely be invested with an earldom or dukedom upon marriage.

Norfolk regretted marrying his son, Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey to Lady Frances de Vere.

His daughter Mary had made a grand match to the King's illegitimate son and was now the duchess of Richmond. If he was wiser, he would've had his own heir married to the Princess Royal, joining the Howards permanently to the royal family!

If the King and Suffolk agree, his Katharine would marry the King's own Brandon nephew, further securing the Howard family closer to the royal family. Norfolk wondered if the King would allow his Scottish niece, Lady Margaret Douglas, marry his younger son, Lord Thomas. She was five years older than his second son, but age does not matter in political matrimony. He hoped the Duchess of Richmond would quicken with child.

"Lord Norfolk," said Cromwell, approaching him. "How was your audience with the King?"

"Uneventful as ever," said Norfolk cautiously. "I told him that his mistress was the spy. It doesn't matter if she truly is or not, but the seeds of doubt had already infested themselves in our king. What can I do for you, Master Cromwell?"

"Even though we have our...ah, religious differences, I believe we can be strong allies. We want the best for England, and have a common enemy in the Duke of Suffolk. Politically, we have common ground. I think the best way to cement our...partnership, is through matrimony. I have an unmarried son, you have an unmarried daughter. We can unite our families closer. What do you say, Lord Norfolk? I am willing to allow her to remain a Catholic in my household."

"Please tell me you are jesting, Master Cromwell."

"Why would I be jesting, Your Grace?"

"My Katharine is the descendant of dukes, nobles and King Edward III of England himself. You are descended from commoners. Why will I want or allow my daughter to be nothing more than 'Lady Katharine, Mistress Cromwell' rather than her married to an earl or duke? Go and find another lady for your son. No Howard girl will ever marry your son!"

All pleasantry had vanished from Cromwell's facial expression.

"Of course," he said stiffly, turning away from a furious Norfolk. "I spoke without thinking. Forgive me for my...impertinence."

Shaking with anger, Cromwell walked to the King's chambers, cursing himself to have the misfortune of being born a commoner. If he was descended from nobles, Norfolk would be practically begging for him to accept his Katharine as his daughter-in-law!

"Cromwell," said the King, glancing at him. "What do you want?"

"My pride and honour had been wounded, Your Majesty," said Cromwell bitterly. "His Grace, the Duke of Norfolk thinks my son is too lowborn for his daughter, Lady Katharine Howard. I have been insulted a countless number of times from many nobles, but I have devoted my time and effort in making England great and prosperous. However, this is the final insult."

"Yes. I thought Norfolk would react badly to your request."

"My son must marry! I must have heirs!"

"We all must have heirs, Cromwell. Some more than others. I have to admit, you have worked quite tirelessly for England, and you must be rewarded. I will give you the title 'Earl of Essex' and permission for your son-who will be 'Baron Cromwell'-to marry Lady Katharine Howard. You will be an earl, and I doubt Norfolk has anything to complain about now. His daughter will be a future countess."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I will never forget this."

"Hmm. Tell Madame de Luil that I am expecting her tonight."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will tell her at once."

"Good. I will inform Norfolk of his daughter's betrothal to your son."

More smug than before, Cromwell bowed and left in better spirits. Even though he was the King's trusted advisor and a powerful politician, the other nobles looked down at him with disdain, due to his common background and low blood.

He knew he needed a noble daughter-in-law to secure his family fortune in aristocracy.

He wondered if it was necessary for him to remarry.

_My Gregory is a fine lad_, Cromwell thought as he eyed several ladies while he walked. _Intelligent, loyal, dedicated, and a Reformist. If I die, he will steadfastly continue my work in transforming England into a strong, Protestant nation. I do not doubt that he will have many fine sons and daughters. However, he has no brothers or sisters. I must promote my family into one of the most powerful and wealthiest aristocratic families in England, and to do that, I must have more than one son. I must have a son or two in the church, a couple in the army and another in the council alongside Gregory. Of course I must have daughters too, to secure friendships with other nobles. I'd like to see the look on Suffolk's face if one of his daughters is ever married to my son._ He chuckled to himself.

He strolled leisurely in the courtyard, his eyes falling upon almost every beautiful woman he passed, no

matter how young she may be.

_Well...there is Suffolk's daughters_, he thought, nodding politely to the King's nieces, Ladies Frances and Eleanor Brandon. _The former is betrothed to young Dorset I believe, and the younger is affianced to Henry Clifford, Baron Clifford, the heir of Sir Henry Clifford, 1st Earl of Cumberland. She is a year older than Gregory. _

He chuckled again as he imagined himself married to the young, feisty and lovely Lady Eleanor. Through her, he would a member of the royal family! Any children he happen to have with her will have noble-and even royal-blood running in their veins.

Something he needed greatly.

_Oh, there is Catherine (nee' Parr), Lady Burgh,_ Cromwell thought, giving a nod to another gracious lady who chatted with the Princess Royal. _Her husband died last year. It will not be long before she marries again. Another possible wife..._

His eyes fell on the small, quiet woman beside the Princess Royal.

He stared at her, his heart beating a little faster.

"Your Highness," he said, approaching them. "My Lady Burgh. And you are?" He turned to the demure lady with mousy blonde hair.

"Mistress Jane Seymour," she said, in barely a whisper.

"Mistress Jane Seymour," Cromwell repeated. "You are Sir John's daughter, aren't you? Lady Ughtred's sister? How long have you been at court?"

"Quite a while, Master Cromwell," replied Jane. "I serve in the household of the Princess Royal, thus I do not appear in the public much."

"Are you married, Mistress Jane?"

"Not yet, Master Cromwell. I suppose my father will be making me one shortly."

"Perhaps, Mistress Jane. Perhaps. I hope you ladies-and princess-have a good day, and may God bless Their Majesties." In one of those rare dazes, Cromwell bowed and walked away.

He sat in front of his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Mistress Jane did not have the perfect bloodline he wanted in a bride, and he was a man who did not particularly care for true love, but aspects of Mistress Jane made her the idea bride and placed her at the top of Cromwell's selection of brides for himself.

_Dear Sir John_, Cromwell scrawled carefully. _I hope the country air is doing you some good, and it is unfortunate to hear you are unwell. Your elder sons, Edward and Thomas, are progressing quite well at court and part of the King's regular hunting parties. It came to my attention that two of your daughters, Mistresses Dorothy and Jane are unmarried. I have taken the initiative in finding possible spouses for them, and recommend a certain Sir Clement Smith. He is a trusted knight of the King, and if the marriage between him and your daughter, Mistress Dorothy, happens to take place, I will personally advocate a barony for him, and your daughter Elizabeth's husband, Sir Anthony Ughtred. As for Mistress Jane, I propose myself as a suitor for her. Between you and me, the King has decided to bestow the earldom of Essex upon me, and if you agree to the match, your Jane would be a countess. By the time this letter reaches you, I would most likely already be the 1st Earl of Essex. Kind regards, T. Cromwell._

_He smiled and rolled it up._

It would not be long before he had his own personal seal.

"Master Cromwell? Sir Thomas More is here."

Cromwell's face darkened as the almost fanatically-insane Sir Thomas entered, looking for fanatically obsessed than ever.

"Sir Thomas," said Cromwell uneasily. "Have a seat. Please. What can I do for you?"

"It is not working!" accused Sir Thomas. "The Princess Royal has a daughter and you said she wouldn't have a living child! Her daughter is the Devil's child! She must be destroyed before she grows into a woman! A witch! She must die!"

"It is a sin to kill people. You know that, Sir Thomas."

"It is not a sin to kill the Devil's offspring!"

"The herbs did not work, thus suggesting that the Princess Royal is blessed by the angels. You will go to Hell for attempting to kill a princess."

"What do I do now? The Almighty will be furious that I am incapable of ridding England of she-devils and

witchy offspring! If the child becomes an adult, I will have her burnt at the stake as is befitting a witch!"

"She is the granddaughter of our sovereign, More. You better take care in your words."

"She is a Devil's child! Nothing more!"

Cromwell sighed. Sir Thomas could be one stubborn man!

"I will sort it out," he said, lying through gritted teeth. "Believe me on this, Sir Thomas. Princess Mary's daughter will die, and you will be appeased."

"Excellent," said Sir Thomas, satisfied. "I hope I will be hearing good news in a few days. It will hurt the princess, but England must be purged of all its heretic roots, including those of the Boleyns, and Princess Mary will be rightfully married off to a Catholic prince and have a brood of Catholic children. It is a sacrifice good Queen Catherine can approve of."

Cromwell didn't even bother correcting him.

It would frankly be pointless.

"Fetch my servant, will you?" asked Cromwell. "I have a letter I wish for him to send at once. The sooner it is sent, the quicker I can deal with...the other matter regarding the Princess Royal and her um...child of the Devil. The faster we can rid England of...heretics."

More enthusiastic than ever, Sir Thomas left and a servant appeared at the door.

"Ride to Wolf Hall and hand this directly to Sir John Seymour," Cromwell ordered. "Do not give it to his wife, children, servants, anyone. Understand?"

The servant nodded and took the letter.

As he turned to leave, Mistress Jane Seymour ran into his chambers and curtsied, her pallid cheeks tinted pink with warmth.

"Mistress Jane!" said Cromwell, surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"I come here bearing news from the Princess Royal," said Jane, almost breathlessly. "She wishes me to tell you that the Queen has gone into labour!"

* * *

"You must return to France," said the King gently to Isabelle. "England is no place for you, and you will do much better in France."

"_Non!_" said Isabelle vehemently. "I will not leave England! I am your mistress and should remain by your side! I will not leave for France!"

"It is not safe for you here-"

"I am only safe when I am by your side!"

"I will send an armed escort with you and I will give you chests of gold and an annuity for the rest of your life. Suffolk is failing me and I need someone I trust to rule in his place. I believe you are the woman that can do that job."

Isabelle's ears perked up.

She had played the demure mayor's wife for far too long, her political nature slowly seeping out like water from cracked ice.

The King almost winced to say all that, but Isabelle had to go!

England's dignity meant more to him than a demanding foreign mistress.

"I cannot go," said Isabelle calmly, planning to play her final card. "You care for me and love me, and for that reason, I cannot leave England in such a fragile condition. You see, my love. I am again, five months with child. You will not be so cruel to send a pregnant woman bearing your child away across the sea, will you?" She battered her long eyelashes at him.

Within seconds, all of the King's uncertainty and hatred melted.

Norfolk was wrong...

Isabelle could not possibly be the spy...

She was loyal, sweet, loving…

"Of course you must stay," said the King, kissing her on the forehead. "Guillame needs you. I need you. I do not think I can bear life without you, dear Isabelle. The Queen is pregnant and obliged to remain here for a few more days. We can go to Woodstock Lodge, away from all this and hunt. Just hunt all the deer and boars until there are none left in the royal forests! It will be just us in the woods alone, with a servant or two! Together, we will be the king and queen of the woods! All the animals will fear us and run away as fast as possible and we will hunt them down! One by one!"

Isabelle laughed and wrapped her arms around him seductively.

"We will have a family together!" she declared, playing into the King's longing fantasy and dreams. "A family of many sons! I will give you a son every year! They will all be strong, beautiful and loyal! No child of mine will ever defy you!"

The King sighed, thinking of Isabelle by his side as his queen, the prestigious St Edward's Crown resting on her luscious locks of golden-blonde hair. With them would be their eldest son Guillame, invested as prince of Wales, three other sons beside him, one in the garments of a cardinal, another donned in armour and the third in fine clothes and a windswept cloak. Of course there would be daughters, all golden haired, demure and attractive.

A dream that would never be fulfilled.

The people had not fully accepted Anne Boleyn as queen and she was full-blooded English.

They would never accept a French-born widow as their queen consort, no matter how many royal sons she brings to England.

He wondered if he could legitimise young Guillame and place him in the line of succession. Legally, he only had a grown married daughter, a girl infant and a female grandchild. Unless Anne could produce a son quickly, legalising his illegitimate son (and perhaps Henry Fitzroy?) seem to be the only logical step to ensure the lasting legacy of the Tudor dynasty.

Sensing his discomfort, Isabelle caressed his face alluringly.

"I will give you a title…" murmured the King, feeling giddy with love. "Guillame and your unborn child will get titles too…I will make you a duchess in your own right...how would you feel if you are the mother of princes, my Isabelle?"

"I will only be mother to your princes," said Isabelle cleverly, enhancing his desire for her further. "No one else's. Only yours."

Bang!

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" roared the King, standing up furiously as two of Anne's ladies ran in, panting breathlessly.

By God! That woman wanted him to suffer! She probably sent two women to check if he is remaining faithful to her or not.

She would pay for that!

He had the right to sleep with any woman he wanted to!

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," gasped one with a wobbly curtsey. "Madame de Luil." She turned and nodded at an equally enraged Isabelle. "We came here as fast as possible, Your Majesty. Her Majesty, the Queen, has gone into labour!"

The King stared at the two ladies with mixed emotions.

His Anne giving birth as he was about to…

"Prayers must be said!" he ordered. "Tell the court that the Queen is in labour! Everyone must pray for a prince! Has my daughter, the Princess Royal, been told?"

"Yes Your Majesty," said the other lady-in-waiting, relieved. "The Princess Royal and the 1st Marquess of Ormond have already been told, as are the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Wiltshire, the Duchess of Suffolk, the Duchess of Lancaster and Master Cromwell."

The King nodded and walked out, not giving another glance to Isabelle.

_He is mine!_ Isabelle fumed as she fixed her gown and stalked out. _He should be married to me, not that whoring witch Boleyn! She cannot even deliver a healthy son and I have given the King one! Why doesn't the King divorce her already?! If he does not annul his marriage with her in a year, I will destroy her and that brat of a daughter! _

The King rushed to Anne's chambers and saw Mary and George waiting anxiously outside.

"How is she?" he asked flatly, neither excited nor bored.

"Well, I suppose," said Mary, her eyes focused on the door. "A few days early is a good sign. The child is strong and wishes to soak in the sunlight. She was calling for you, Your Majesty. When her water broke, she was calling and crying for you. Apparently she had a dream that said she would die with the child if you were not by her side throughout the birth. Her sister, Lady Carey, did not believe it was real, but if I was an important person in the dream, I would take care not to fulfil the nightmare. Father, Anne needs you in there. You avoided her in the last pregnancy. You owe her your love."

"Did she die giving birth to a son or daughter?"

"Does it matter?! Of course England needs an heir, but you married Anne for love! Prove to her you are still the loving man you were when you married her! You almost tore the kingdom apart for her and now you won't even see her or pray for her safety! For the sake of Anne's life and that of your unborn child, go in there and show Anne you still love her!"

George stared at her, his mouth wide open with shock. No one had ever spoken to the king in such a way! It's unheard of!

The King sighed and nodded guiltily.

He opened the door and was greeted with a sight of blood.

His stomach turned.

"Your Majesty!" said a midwife, noticing him. "You cannot be in here! The Queen is in labour as we speak, and you must wait outside."

"Not this time," said the King firmly. "The Queen is my wife. I married her for love, and for the sake of it, I will remain in here and wait."

He kept his word and stood patiently for hours, wincing as Anne's cries rose.

It wasn't long before he was rewarded with the cry of a child.

A healthy cry.

He instantly went to Anne's side, excitement boiling in his veins as another midwife turned away to swaddle the wailing babe.

"What is it?" said Anne breathlessly, her eyes fluttering open quickly. "Is it a son?"

* * *

**Letting you know that I'm swamped with assignments and may not have time to update on a regular schedule for a while :( I'll try my best though! So...girl or boy...? ;) Please read and review! :) **


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter XIV

**August, 1534**

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the midwife, turning to face her, a broad smile on her face. "You have given birth to a healthy baby boy!"

The King cheered and embraced Anne deeply.

A bonny son! At last!

"A son," said Anne, staring at the squirming bundle in her arms. "A son. God is pleased with us and rewarded us with a son!"

"He will be a 'Henry'," the King decided. "Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury will be his tutor in theology. Our boy will be raised with the thoughts of the Church of England in his mind since he is in a cradle. He will not be polluted with Catholicism. Once you are well, I will hold a grand feast and distribute free wine to the people! Henry, Prince of Wales!"

Anne cradled her infant son gently.

"Can we name him 'Arthur'?" she said more timidly than she had ever spoken to him before.

"Arthur?" the King frowned, as his late brother appeared in his mind. "Why do you want to name my son after my dead brother?"

"Of course not after your brother! I was thinking of the king of Camelot. Our son is the jewel of a new era. An England where there is peace and prosperity. It will be more fitting to name him Arthur, after that legendary king."

"Very well. Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales. He will go to Hatfield after the celebrations and once he reaches his tenth year, he will leave for Ludlow Castle in Wales. Guillame will accompany him. A wife must be found for Arthur when he is fifteen, and I plan to choose him a Protestant wife."

"Can we please not mention your bastard?"

Anne was tired of her son already being sort of compared to Guillame.

"Bastard or not, he is still my son," said the King shortly. "You are fortunate to be blessed to have given us a prince. If you gave me a daughter, I would have taken steps to fully legitimise Guillame and make him the prince of Wales. I need sons. You know that."

"He is an infant!" said Anne spitefully, furious that the King did not even thank or properly bless her for completing her duty. "And he has a French name! Do you honestly think the people will accept a French bastard as king when you have two legitimate daughters? If you must have legalise a bastard, why not Fitzroy? He is older, more mature and English!"

"He bears the last name 'Fitzroy', not 'Tudor', and is married to your cousin! Do you honestly believe I will allow your uncle more power if I die and Fitzroy ascends as king?! His blasted daughter will become the next queen. Besides, he is a Catholic. I need a Protestant son to succeed me, not a Catholic son or any daughter. I hope next year you can bear England another bonny prince. One is never enough. You do not have another son, I will proclaim Guillame my legitimate son and the duke of York. Of course if he ever succeeds to the throne-"

"God forbid."

"If he ever succeeds to the throne, he will take the English translation of 'William'. I expect you at tonight's feast, Madame."

He kissed her coolly on the forehead and left, taking the crying babe with him.

Tears brimmed Anne's eyes.

Not even a son could please the King anymore...

Not even a son could rekindle the King's passion for her anymore...

Not even a son could rip the King away from his French whore.

"Anne," said Mary, squeezing her hand. "What is it? I saw the King leave with the babe. Is it another daughter? She is perfectly healthy."

"A son," murmured Anne, wiping away her tears with the handkerchief Mary handed her. "I have given England a prince."

"Congratulations! God is pleased with you! Why are you weeping? You should be rejoicing!"

"Whatever I do, the King compares me to his whore. He says one son is not enough, and he will legitimise his bastard if I give him a daughter next time! I even preferred Fitzroy than his French bastard, and the King accused me of supporting my uncle's ascent to power! By God! What don't I have that his French harlot does?!"

"I heard that he allows her in his council meetings."

"No! That is not true! George! Tell us that it isn't true! There is no way he will invite his mistress to listen in while I am forbidden from it!"

Before George could speak, Norfolk slipped in and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," he said, bowing to Mary. "I do not mean to ah…sneak up on you. Is it possible if you can give me a moment alone with the Marquess and the Queen? I only wish to congratulate the Queen on the birth of a dear prince." Even though he still viewed her as a sort of threat, he was obliged to show her the respect required.

"Of course, Your Grace," said Mary, giving Anne a sympathetic smile. "Your Majesty, dear husband. I will be outside if you need me."

Norfolk waited until she left from sight before beginning his rant.

"A son," he said, his voice revealing neither joy nor disappointment. "You finally bore the King and England a prince with the stamina to live through childhood. How long did that take? Four years? His mistress is pregnant with her second child that is also the king's. Even George's wife had a child. What do you prove to us? You're only capable of having weak children, daughters and pitiful sons. If you don't have another son, the King will legitimise his bastards and I will abandon you. The family will abandon you and I expect the Princess Mary will be delighted to as well. With the King's permission, I will annul her marriage to George and marry her to my own son."

"He is married," George pointed out, referring to his first cousin, the Earl of Surrey. "Surrey is married to Lady Frances de Vere, and Mary and I already have a child."

"Yes, a daughter. Surrey can put the princess in her proper place when they are married. As for your daughter, you will have custody of her and you will marry another noble lady who will bear you sons. A duty the princess failed in."

"The King will never allow it. He elevated me to marquess for his daughter! Not you!"

"How dare you defy me?! I-"

"I am not defying you, lord uncle! I am stating a fact!"

"If the divorce is permitted, she will be countess of Surrey. It is not particularly different from being the marchioness of Ormond. Perhaps the King will elevate my son to a marquessate. It will not be long before the Princess Royal becomes Lady Surrey."

"I am not signing the divorce papers."

"By God George! Your sister only had one son. I doubt she is capable of bearing more. Will you stay on a sinking ship, or will you do the clever thing and leave?"

Both Norfolk and Anne stared at George.

"You are not a Boleyn," said George coldly. "You are a Howard. You do not know us Boleyns. We stick together through thick and thin. We never abandon each other. Not for gold, power or land. Father may have joined you in desperation, but I will not. My father abandoned my sister Mary, when the King lost interest in her, and that I will never do. I will never allow my daughters to be used as pawns and whores for anyone. Ever. Not for father or not for you."

"You dare speak to me like that, boy?!" growled Norfolk, red in the face. "You will apologise or I will pull both you and Anne down to the mud and crush you!"

He shot Anne a scathing look and stormed out.

In his haste, he did not see Mary in the shadows of Anne's outer chamber.

She had heard every foul word he uttered.

She slipped back into Anne's bedchamber, her heart filled with rage and vengeance.

"Maybe you should go," said Anne, glancing at Mary quickly before looking away. "You do not need to hear what we will say."

"I heard everything," answered Mary sympathetically. "Your uncle is indeed the scheming wolf I thought he is, and I will never be his daughter-in-law! George and I took our vows, and I intend to keep them till my death. I will help you stay as queen."

"You do not need to," said Anne, managing a sad smile. "It was my fault for putting you in a precarious

position like this. If the King never fell in love with me, you will be married to a royal duke or king."

"It was you who brought me happiness. I can stay in England. The King may not want me married to a royal prince and sent to another kingdom, but my mother would've. It is thanks to you that I can live at home here in England for the rest of my life."

"I suppose we are cursed and gifted at the same time!"

"Perhaps. What worries you? You have a son now."

"_Madame Isabelle de Luil_." She spat those words as if they were a deadly poison. "The King will never let her go. I am nothing but a queen in name. She occupies his heart, and he views her opinions much more than he does to mine!"

"Very well. As a gift to you, I will help ruin Madame de Luil's reputation and hopefully ship her back to France. The King needs to wake up."

* * *

_Le Sauveur_ watched her soldiers fight against the tired English troops as a physician wrapped a bandage around her arm.

The day before, she had been shot by a stray arrow, but showed no pain.

It surprised and impressed the Frenchmen, as it was said that not even the bravest man can keep a straight face when shot by an arrow.

"Any news from Madame de Luil?" inquired Jeanne, as a messenger entered her tent. "I heard she is the King's favourite mistress."

"_Oui, Sauveur_," answered the messenger, producing a letter.

"Read it please."

"_Oui, Sauveur_. Madame de Luil says that reinforcements will be coming from England, and the Duke of Suffolk's life is on the line. If he fails, he will be executed. The troops will arrive in Picardy within a few days. On a personal note, she says that the King of England does not seem to trust her as much as he did before and wishes to send her back to France. However, she says that the news of her pregnancy has mellowed him and she remains in England."

"Good. It will be a pity for Suffolk to be executed, but France comes first."

"Sauveur, Suffolk is the enemy!"

"We are enemies on the battlefield, nothing more. He is equally the Almighty's son, as I am the Almighty's daughter. Any other news, good messenger? Has Suffolk asked for armistice yet? Of course it is more honourable to die in battle..."

"His Majesty has promised more soldiers, and Breton troops are marching here as we speak. Your men are getting restless, Sauveur. They were promised an easy victory, and it has been three months. How long will this battle go for?"

"We are in God's hands, good messenger. We will fight as long as we need to."

"Of course, _Sauveur_. There is also another message from His Majesty of France."

"What does it say?"

"He will reward you with a title and land will be bestowed upon your family-"

"Non, good messenger. I only want to rid France of foreign invaders. I want no titles, land or gold. I only seek to protect France's honour. Madame de Luil deserves a title. She is risking her life-and bearing enemy children-as we speak."

"_Oui, Sauveur_. I will write to His Majesty immediately."

Jeanne nodded, wishing she could read and write more than the few words and numbers her parents taught her, but what would words do on a farm? After Picardy returns to France, King Francis I will surely forget about her, and she will return to her daily chores of counting sheep!

"_Sauveur?_" another messenger entered.

"_Oui?_" Jeanne said with a nod.

"His Majesty of France wishes for you to broker peace with the Duke of Suffolk for five months and for battle to recommence in February next year. The Duke desires to go home, as do the soldiers, and the people of Picardy need peace. Even if it is temporary."

"Very well. I will speak to the Duke of Suffolk at the main gates of Picardy. It will be a break from

traditional peace talks, but I will not go in to be killed, and I doubt he will come out to risk the chance of being shot with an arrow."

"Indeed, _Sauveur_. Shall I go and tell the Duke of Suffolk the message?"

"_Oui,_ good messenger. Go and tell His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, that I am willing to discuss peace with him, but only at the gates."

"_Oui, Sauveur_." The messenger bowed and left in wonder, proud of speaking to the great Jeanne. HIs spirits high, he went to deliver the message.

Jeanne stood up and picked up her sword.

"Do you wish to change?" asked Michel, with a smirk. "I heard that the Duke of Suffolk is a notorious womaniser. Perhaps peace will come-"

"Hold your tongue, _Monsieur_," Jeanne cut in sharply as if she sliced his wrist with her sword. "If you must speak that way, do it outside with the other soldiers. I have no desire to hear these...rumours you are repeating. If what you say is true, I rather not hear of it. I will treat with him like I do to any nobleman, with respect, politeness and patience."

He rolled his eyes.

Outside, both the French and English forces stopped fighting.

Jeanne and the Duke of Suffolk emerged from their respective headquarters-her tent and his hastily built fort behind the Picardy gates-and saw each other for the first time. Their messages had been conveyed to each other by couriers, and neither of them had actually met.

"Battle will stop today!" announced Jeanne, with the Duke nodding in agreement. "Both French and English men will lay down their swords for peace!"

As a show of good faith, she sheathed her sword.

Suffolk sheathed his, and the soldiers followed, relief on their faces.

Jeanne walked up to the Picardy gates.

"Your Grace," she said with a polite nod.

"_Sauveur_," the Duke greeted back. "You are a child! You should not even be here on the battlefield, nor leading an army! At the most, you should be at home raising children."

"A womanly life at home is not the chosen destiny for me. You are tired of France and wish to be back in England, do you not?"

"Indeed, but my place is here to protect English land."

"Come, come, Your Grace. You know as well as I do that Picardy is French, not English. Would you not prefer to stay with your family for Christmas and New Year celebrations rather than here, shivering in the cold with no festivities?"

"It is my duty to stay here. The King believes in me." He sounded uncertain.

"The King of France is willing to compromise with the King of England for a truce of about five months and battle to recommence next year in February. No matter if Picardy is French or English land, can we not agree that the people of Picardy have suffered enough?"

"Yes. The people need peace. Very well. I suppose we both need rest and as do our troops. I suggest our men celebrate with a feast together as a sign of good will between our kingdoms. However, that is not enough to solidify a temporary alliance between our nations."

"I believe alliances are secured through matrimony?"

"Are you given enough authority to do that, petite Sauveur?"

"Yes I am, Your Grace. Are you?"

"To an extent, I am. I doubt our respective kings will be happy to join unions only for the peace of one town. It is not worth it."

"Peace for six months can stop unnecessary bloodshed. Madame de Luil has a son that is old enough for marriage. You have a young granddaughter I believe, from a daughter of yours in your second marriage. I believe the child in question is not royal or even half-royal."

"You want my granddaughter to marry the King's mistress's son?! No!"

"The terms of their marriage contract could be that they will be the future joint rulers of Picardy and a few other close towns and villages, and His Majesty of France will grant them titles. The King of England will not view the match as particularly threatening. You are his best friend, are you not? You and your family will not be viewed as a threat if your granddaughter marries Madame de Luil's son. The two of them can be joint rulers of Picardy and they can be founders of a new House; the House of Stanley de Luil perhaps. Your granddaughter is a Stanley is she not?"

"Yes. I suppose you are right."

Jeanne held out her hand, and Suffolk grudgingly took it. They shook hands, sealing an uneasy temporary peace settlement.

Hopefully it would last until February...

* * *

Norfolk's bad mood increased once he was told the news that his youngest daughter would be married to Cromwell's son.

He scowled when he discovered Cromwell would become an earl.

Immediately, he went to the Princess Mary, Duchess of Suffolk's chambers to plea for aid. He was a man who would never sink that low, but at times like this, he needed all the help he could get from as many sympathetic royals as possible.

"Your Royal Highness," Norfolk said, with a respectable bow when he was presented to the King's favourite sister. "You are well I hope?"

"Your Grace," said the Duchess of Suffolk wearily. "I am ill with worry. My brother has sent my husband to France and it had been months! The children need him. I need him. My Frances is supposed to marry, and her betrothed is still in France! When I ask my brother when Charles will return, he never replies, and when he does, it is cold!"

"Have you heard the news, Your Highness?"

"News? What news?"

"The King has sent reinforcements to Picardy, with a warning to your husband, the Duke, that if he loses Picardy to the French and returns in disgrace, he will be executed without trial on the grounds of high treason and his possessions forfeited."

The ailing Duchess gasped with horror.

"I can help," said Norfolk, gently leading her to a chair. "The King ordered me to write to the Duke, informing him of his pending execution. I can save him from death. However, I need your help, Your Highness. Only you can help me."

"What is it?" murmured the Duchess of Suffolk, her mind buzzing with confusion. When had Norfolk ever cared for her wellbeing? "What do you need?"

"You are aware of the King's...unhealthy friendship with Master Cromwell, the commoner? He has made him the Earl of Essex, and his son, Baron Cromwell. He also procured the King's permission to have his son married to my daughter, Lady Katharine. It is outrageous, Your Highness! A commoner married to a noble girl! It is not only humiliation to me, but to all of the aristocracy! Who knows? If he can have his own son married to my daughter, he may request your younger daughter's hand in marriage to himself! It must be stopped, Your Highness!"

"By God's name! That cannot happen!"

"Exactly, Your Highness."

"Have you thought of a replacement for Cromwell's boy?"

"I thought...your younger boy? Lord William Brandon?"

"Thank you for the warning, Your Grace. I will consider your daughter, Lady Katharine Howard, for my younger son. However, I cannot make any decisions without my husband. If you bring him back to me safely with no execution warrant on his head, I will propose my son as Lady Katharine's future spouse rather than that arrogant Cromwell's son."

"Very well, Your Highness. You are indeed a woman of good understanding."

The Duchess laughed weakly and coughed into a lacy handkerchief.

She moved it and noticed blood.

Dear God...her end is closer than she thought.

"Are you well, Your Highness?" Norfolk said again, this time with more concern.

"I am fine, Lord Norfolk," said the Duchess, with a feeble laugh. "I may not be as robust as I was when I

was younger, but my mind is still strong. There is something else I wish for you to do, if you do not mind."

"What is it, Your Highness?"

"The King's mistress. Madame Isabelle de Luil. I am worried for my niece, the Princess Royal. She ought to be loved, not battle for her father's affections. I want Madame de Luil out of England and for the King to love Mary as a father should to his daughter. I once hated Anne Boleyn for replacing my dear friend, Catherine. Now, I accept her. I do not want another queen discarded."

"I will try my best to rid England of Madame de Luil, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Lord Norfolk. You complete those tasks of ridding England of Madame de Luil and returning my husband without a death warrant on his head, I will agree to a match between my William and your daughter. They are my terms."

"Very well, Your Highness. I will ensure it will happen."

The Duchess nodded and dismissed him, more exhausted than ever.

Her pale hand shaking, she grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment.

_My lord brother_, she wrote, another cough spasm rising in her chest. _We have not seen each other in a while, and I have unfortunate news to tell you. I am not well. For the love you bear me as brother to sister, I wish to see and speak to you before I join our dear mother and brother at God's side. Please. Your beloved sister, Princess Mary Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk._

* * *

**Yes, Anne had a son! BUT will it be enough to keep her on the throne? ;) Please read and review :) **


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter XV

**December, 1534**

Alone in her chambers, Jane wept uncontrollably, clutching a plain cross so tightly that it dug into her pallid skin, leaving cuts on her fingers and palms.

She was to be married in a month.

To a man she feared, loathed and despised.

Thomas Cromwell, the newly created 1st Earl of Essex.

_Jane_, her father had written to her. _It is time you are married, and a husband had been chosen for you. I have arranged (with the King's permission and blessing) for you to marry the King's closest advisor, Thomas Cromwell, 1st Earl of Essex. With his good graces, your sisters Dorothy and Elizabeth are now baronesses, but you will rise above them both as a countess and the wife of a man the King trusts greatly. Fortune has decided to bless our family, and your marriage with Lord Essex is just the beginning. We are rising, daughter, and you will help us rise further. Even though Lord Essex already has a son and heir who will be married shortly, the King has agreed that your son will be given an earldom upon marriage or reaching his majority. Think about it Jane! The Earl of Essex himself wishes to marry you, the daughter of a knight! I hope you make us proud. Your father._

She shuddered as she remembered Cromwell's lustful eyes, his lips curving into a hungry smile, the slimy touch his filthy fingers left on her skin...

The door opened and Jane saw a pair of expensive shoes on the ground in front of her.

"Mistress Jane, why weep tears?"

Cromwell's slippery, cunning voice.

"Lord Essex!" said Jane, jumping to her feet, quickly wiping away her tears. "I did not expect you! I am sobbing with excitement, nothing more!"

It was a lie the heavenly Father will forgive.

"As do every excited bride," said Cromwell, smiling as he took her hand. "I too, am excited for our wedding day. More so to the wedding night. I will be gentle with you, dear Jane. I understand that it is God's will for us to be joined together in matrimony my dear. I cannot wait to introduce you to my son and heir, Gregory. He will be pleased to have a new stepmother." He pulled the cross from her fingers and replaced it with jewelled bracelet. "When you are my wife, you will have no need of that cross. You will be decked from head to toe with precious jewels, my dove."

He caressed her hand and left as softly as he arrived.

Instinctively, Jane threw the bracelet against the wall.

She wanted nothing from him.

He had began tearing down monasteries and nunneries on trumped up accusations and stole their valuables. She wanted no bracelet from him that was made with the gold he cruelly took from the peaceful monks and nuns.

"Jane? Are you alright?"

Mary hurried in and looked at Jane, concerned.

"It is nothing, Mary," sniffled Jane. "You do not need to worry yourself with me. You are a princess and should not deal with servants like me."

"You are not a servant," said Mary, handing her a handkerchief. "You are my friend. You have been acting oddly for the last few days. Talk to me. I will try and help you as much as I can. What is it? Have you found yourself in some strife?"

"I am to be married."

"You should be delighted, Jane! You longed to be a mother!"

"I am to marry Thomas Cromwell, 1st Earl of Essex. He is a heretic and a sinner! I cannot marry a man like him! I rather join a nunnery! That is what I will do! I will become a nun!"

"The only reason Cromwell will marry you is because he likes you-"

"No, he lusts after me. I can see it in his cold eyes..."

"He is dangerous at the moment. I heard that he wanted his son to marry Norfolk's daughter, and the King gave him permission! The marriage only stopped when my aunt, the Duchess of Suffolk pleaded to my father to break it. She was dying. At least her husband, the Duke of Suffolk, has the death warrant permanently removed from his head. My Aunt Mary died peacefully and happy. Her husband free from execution, her daughter about to be married and the old nobility safe. I hope Frances and Eleanor are alright. They may not feel safe without their mother."

"From people like Cromwell."

"Exactly. The King is still in a mourning mood and you should talk to him. Tell him you do not wish to marry Cromwell. He will understand."

"Will he?" She was doubtful. "Lord Essex is the King's closest advisor, and he may think I insulted him if I reject Lord Essex. Apparently my sons will be given earldoms upon marriage or if they reach their majorities. My father is pleased. He will be furious if I tell the King behind his back that I do not want to marry Lord Essex."

"I will support you. If I was you, I will not marry him either."

"When shall I see him?"

"You should go now. He is sitting in the throne room I believe."

Jane smiled gratefully at Mary and wiped away her tears as she took a deep breath. She must be calm when she sees the king…

Morphing her expression into a demure poker face, Jane left her chambers in better spirits than before and headed to the throne room.

"And you are?" said a guard, looking down at her as she approached the doors.

"Mistress Jane Seymour," Jane answered softly. A lady must never raise her voice. "Daughter of Sir John Seymour and Margery, Lady Seymour."

The doors opened and he accompanied her inside.

Sitting on his throne with a reminiscent and brooding expression, the King stared into space, his merry, sparkling eyes now a dull blue. The death of his favourite sister had shocked him. Even though it had been a few months ago, the King had not moved on. Not even the presence of baby Arthur or the alluring Isabelle could cheer him up.

"Your Majesty?" said the guard cautiously. "Your Majesty? Mistress Jane Seymour wishes to seek an audience with you."

"Yes, yes," said the distracted King, waving his hand dismissively. "I will speak with Mistress Jane Seymour, you may go."

The guard bowed and departed, leaving Jane alone with the King.

Jane immediately curtsied, her eyes directed to the ground.

"Mistress Seymour. You wanted to see me? Why?"

"Your Majesty," said Jane humbly. "I thank you for giving permission for me to marry Thomas Cromwell, 1st Earl of Essex, but I must reject it upon my honour, virtue and faith. I believe Lord Essex is a devoted servant to Your Majesty, but to me, he is a man of sins-"

"Look at me when you speak!"

Terrified, Jane looked up and her plain watery blue eyes met those of the King's.

All dullness had vanished once the King saw her pale face that looked startling attractive. He sat up and looked at her with more interest.

"I wish to break the betrothal between myself and Lord Essex," said Jane timidly.

"Oh?" said the King thoughtfully. "He is a wealthy man, and a nobleman no less! You are the daughter of a knight, and it is considered a tremendous honour for you to marry an earl! He had all the ladies in court to choose from, and he chose you. A knight's daughter with little prospects and a small dowry. What can possibly be wrong about Lord Essex in such a way that you wish to break your betrothal? Is your father aware of this?"

"No, Your Majesty. He is delighted at our engagement. He sees a powerful man in Lord Essex, but all I see is a man filled with lust who will take advantage of me at any chance he gets. It is wrong to take one's life in God's eyes, but I rather sin than be married to a sinner."

"Lord Essex is no more a sinner than I am!" He laughed, amused at Jane's boldness.

"Perhaps, Your Majesty, but if I must oblige to marry Lord Essex, I will seek an annulment as quickly as possible. I will not marry Lord Essex."

"I do not give permission for a future annulment. Do you still view the Roman bishop as having more

authority over us? The Roman bishop has no right meddling in the affairs of us! If anyone seeks annulment through him, I will revoke it and throw the people involved in the Tower!"

A direct threat was never a good sign.

"It is not a matter of religion, Your Majesty," said Jane quickly, glancing back at the ground. "If I marry a Protestant noble, I will gladly embrace his religion as I do to yours, Your Majesty. It is Lord Essex as a person I cannot marry. How would you feel if you were a woman and married to a man who does not want you for anything but as a toy?"

The King frowned slightly, yet his eyes remained solely fixed on her. There was something...something fascinating about this lady.

Who was she again?

Oh yes, Sir John Seymour's daughter.

He hardly remembered Sir John, nor his daughter!

"Who will you marry then?" challenged the King. "If you do not find Lord Essex suitable as your husband, who will you marry? Your father will be furious if you reject Lord Essex and turn up at his door as a spinster! No father would like an unmarried daughter in his home."

"I do not care, Your Majesty," said Jane simply. "Anyone but Lord Essex. Any honourable man who still holds chivalry and respect as all husbands should. If not, I will join a convent. I do not care if my father disagrees, but I will become a nun rather than marry Lord Essex."

"You are too beautiful to be a nun," said the King without thinking.

Jane stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Forgive me," said the King hastily, feeling drawn towards her by the minute. "I did not mean to speak so…bluntly. I apologise if I offended you in anyway. You serve my daughter, the Princess Royal, do you not, Mistress Jane?"

"Indeed I do, Your Majesty," replied Jane.

"I see...your sister, Lady Ughtred, she is in the Queen's service, is she not? Your other sister…Lady Smith, who does she serve?"

"Lady Smith lives in the countryside with her husband, Your Majesty. She was not wanted in anyone's household. My father is arranging for her to serve Lady Frances Brandon upon her marriage to Henry Grey, 3rd Marquess of Dorset in a few weeks' time. Lady Ughtred still remains in the Queen's service, even though she is pregnant with her second child."

"She was pregnant before, Mistress Seymour?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. She had a healthy son whom she named 'Henry', after you, Your Majesty. My nephew is living in Kexby Manor in Yorkshire and will be raised there to be a good knight. My brother-in-law is pleased with my sister for giving him a son so quickly."

"Yes…every lady seems capable of giving her husband sons except mine…first Catherine and now Anne...hopeless at giving me sons…"

"You have the Prince of Wales, Your Majesty. The Queen is capable of having sons."

"One son, Mistress Jane! You have many brothers, do you not? Your father is a lucky man. Your future husband will also be quite fortunate."

He looked enviously at Jane.

Cromwell already had a son, but what if he marries Jane and sires more sons? No doubt he would flaunt his future sons in front of him.

"I will find you another…more suitable husband," said the King promptly. "Your betrothal with Lord Essex will be dissolved immediately, and it will be kept a secret between us. I will summon you again to inform you your new husband."

Jane curtsied deeply and left, relief fluttering in her heart.

"Mistress Jane," said Cromwell, almost appearing from the shadows. "You are in brighter spirits than you were half an hour ago. What, may I ask, changed your mood so quickly? You were in tears before, and now you have a smile on your face."

_My betrothal to you is over_, thought Jane. _I will not ever have to feel your touch again. That is what brightened my mood drastically._

"I went for a walk," she said, with a shy, empty smile. "I found the palace too stuffy and needed to

breathe fresh air and to think. Court can be filled with unclean air at times, do you not think so?"

Cromwell nodded, slightly suspicious of her.

"What were you doing in the throne room?" he asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "What business can you possibly have with him?"

"What happened in there is between me and the King," said Jane unflinchingly. "If it pleases you to know, you can inquire about it to the King himself. As a lady with honour, I do not tell others the secrets that I vow to keep."

Cromwell grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly.

"You will not keep secrets from me!" he said angrily. "When we marry, all your letters will be read before they are sent, and you will not think! You will never think! All you will do is smile and bear me a brood of sons! Every year, there will be a son in my nursery! You will not dare keep any secrets from me, and if I discover-"

"CROMWELL!"

He released Jane, who collapsed trembling on the ground.

Standing at the doors with his hands at his hips and glaring at Cromwell, was the king himself.

* * *

In Lancaster Castle, Catherine had refurbished a room which she decided would be the nursery for her grandchild if Mary wished to visit with little Katherine.

Now, it housed her own baby daughter, Lady Isabella Chapuys.

It was unexpected that she successfully gave birth to another healthy child a month ago, and it was even more astonishing that both she and the child survived!

Chapuys was delighted that Catherine survived the dangerous ordeal and was happy to be a father to a beautiful baby girl.

The King was flabbergasted that Catherine could have another child.

Especially a living one!

Once he recovered over the initial shock, the King offered for Isabella to be raised in Hatfield along with Prince Arthur, Elizabeth and Katherine. Missing the chance to raise a child herself, Catherine politely refused and stated her intentions to be a 'true' mother to Isabella.

"I will not be parted with another daughter," Catherine had said flatly. "Isabella is my daughter and I will keep her here in Lancaster Castle. Lady Darrell will be her governess. Do not worry about her being lonely, Your Majesty. I have arranged for Lady Salisbury's young grandchildren by her son, Sir Geoffrey Pole to be raised alongside Isabella. Lady Salisbury's widowed granddaughter-in-law, Lady Elizabeth Pole (nee' Wingfield), will help raise the children."

"Do you not think there are too many Poles?" said Suffolk uncertainly (he went to Lancaster Castle on the King's behalf). "I believe you told me that when you were in Spain, your parents ensured that you and your siblings-especially your brother-had plenty of companions of different families so there will not be one favoured family?"

"Whom I choose for Isabella is none of your concern, Your Grace."

"Of course. I am more worried about your daughter's future."

"And why is that?"

"Mark my words, Madame, you will regret raising Lady Isabella with the Poles. No matter if it is before your death or after your death, you will regret it. Lady Salisbury is not the woman you think she is. All those Plantagenets are conniving." He scowled as he remembered his father's death in the Battle of Bosworth Field at the hands of a Plantagenet.

"Will you sup with us, Your Grace?" said Chapuys quickly.

Suffolk glanced at him. "I'm surprised you allow your wife to choose the companions for your daughter, Chapuys! You know people quite well. What do you think of this?"

"I will be leaving for Spain in a few days, and I trust Catherine's decisions. She has raised a child before, and I haven't. Is something the matter, Suffolk? You seem more irritable than usual."

"Well, my beloved wife died a few months ago when I was still stationed in that irritating part of France with a warrant on my head. After the festivities here, I will be sent back to France to fight against that bloody peasant girl with queer eyes! Bah! I cannot live peacefully! I promised my late wife I will not sleep around carelessly with another girl, but you know how painful that is?! How can I prepare myself to return to blasted France with no wife waiting for me at home?!"

"You could always give in to your...urges, but be a better man. Why don't you sign a treaty with that peasant girl and stay in England longer?"

"I will not humiliate England in front of a...a peasant!"

"You will continue battling for a tiny, insignificant piece of France? It is not worth it, Suffolk. Drop it and sign a peace treaty."

"Are you turning traitor already, _Lord Lancaster?_" Suffolk used Chapuys's new title which was rarely said at all in court. "Are you switching sides back to Spain? Will Spain go to France's aid to sort out a puny little dispute of land?"

"I know a lost cause when I can see one, _Lord_ Suffolk."

"Gentlemen," said Catherine, before Suffolk could retort back. "Please! Suffolk, I understand your unhappiness and anger, and Chapuys, husband, I can see your logic. Suffolk, Chapuys is right. You must ask for peace. If signing a treaty with a peasant girl too much for you, ask to sign a treaty with the King of France himself. He was the man cowardly enough to send common folk out to fight for him while he hides away in a secluded palace. If he refuses, I will convince the King to have an alliance with Spain, and together, England and Spain will defeat France to its knees. That will be enough to frighten the cowardly king of France, do you not think?"

"Indeed," said Suffolk, impressed at Catherine's words. "Your Highness, you have not lost your eloquent tongue in your marriage with Chapuys!"

Both Catherine and Chapuys glared at him.

"Out of interest," said Suffolk, glancing around secretively. "What do you think of Madame de Luil? Do you think she is the key of England's downfall in France?"

"I am not interested in politics anymore, Suffolk," said Catherine, with a small laugh. "I lost interest in it when Isabella came along. My place is here with my husband and daughter. If Madame de Luil pleases the King in a manner both I and Anne failed in, good on her. As long as she does not attempt to place her son in front of my Mary, I have nothing to say about her. Are you planning to ship her back to France in disgrace, Suffolk?"

"There is a number of us that believe she is a spy for the King of France."

"Did you inform the King?"

"Norfolk attempted to, but she somehow outwitted him, hence, she is still here. Perhaps if you try and talk some sense in our king…?"

"I have no desire to travel away from my child."

"I understand you and Queen Anne have a mutual friendship? How would you feel if she is ousted from her position by a scheming Frenchwoman? Our king has a rather unconventional taste in women. First, a royal princess, then a noble lady, and now…a mayor's widow."

"Do not concern yourself Catherine," warned Chapuys, worried that the Holy Roman Emperor would not offer support for Catherine if she ever found herself stuck in a diplomatic situation. "Isabella needs you here. Queen Anne must untangle herself from the mess herself."

"It's up to you," said Suffolk, looking at Catherine. "You had the Emperor as an ally, and all of the Queen's allies do not equal the power he has."

"What does that have to do with you and France?" said Chapuys suspiciously.

"I have a plan," said Suffolk, with a scheming expression. "If the King refuses to listen to the truth, perhaps we can serve him...lies? He seems to prefer lies to truth."

"That is treason!" hissed Catherine. "You want us to lie to the King?!"

"What is there to be done?" said Suffolk, with a shrug. "Do you want your daughter wrested from the throne in favour of a bastard? Do you want another war in England? It will not be like the Wars of the Roses, I can assure you of that! It will be much worse! What if the Prince of Wales dies? The French may attack on behalf of that bastard. Spain will certainly be an ally to us-for a cost. They will insist on your daughter to divorce the Marquess of Ormond, declare her own daughter a bastard and to marry a Roman Catholic Spanish prince. Who knows? Maybe the Spaniards will go as far as insisting a say in English affairs, and the Princess Royal's husband given rights as a king of England. Is that what you want for England and your daughter's future?"

"You are speaking of my relatives as if they are tyrants!"

"Your Highness, if I may speak bluntly, ask yourself this: are you an English lady or a Spanish lady? The time will come when you will need to decide your loyalties. I heard from the Marquess that both he and his wife-your daughter-are keen to rid England of the King's mistress. It will be all for the best if you choose a side. Your daughter did."

"Choosing sides for what? I did not realise you are a serious plotter. That is something Norfolk is experienced in."

"No," said Chapuys hotly. "Catherine will not involve herself in your schemes. She has Isabella to take care of now. Politics do not particularly involve her now."

Catherine nodded uncertainly.

Suffolk noticed, and hope sparked in his eyes.

"I will keep in contact with you," he said, with a small bow. "Both of you. Ambassador Chapuys, I wish you will for the journey to Spain. Your Highness, congratulations on your successful recovery and the good health of your daughter. If you need anything, write to me and I will deliver."

"Yes," said Chapuys, bowing back. "A good journey for you to France too. Again, if you require anything, write to us-well, to Catherine as I will be in Spain-and we will try and help."

"Indeed," agreed Catherine, her thoughts far away from bidding Suffolk farewell. "Something tells me we will speak again shortly."

* * *

**This is probably one of the worst chapters I've ever written. Ugh...Sorry if it's a bit confusing. You know how it is with millions of assignments and exams. Yeah, so Catherine had a daughter with Chapuys :) Sorry if you wanted her to have a son. Please read and review :) Ideas always welcome! **


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter XVI

**January, 1535**

Exactly a month after she received the letter from her father, Jane found herself weeping in her chambers again.

Her betrothal with Cromwell had been broken, but she feared matters have worsened when gifts began arriving at her door.

Expensive gifts.

Often accompanying them were love letters.

Letters from the King.

At first, Jane politely sent them back, not knowing what to do with them. She thought the King would take it as a sign of disinterest, but obviously not. When her brother Edward found out, he was furious at her 'silly' actions.

_"Do not send them back again!" he ordered, prowling in her chambers a few days before. "The King has expressed interest in you, and all you do is send his gifts back?! Are you planning to humiliate our family further?! Bloody hell, woman! You break your betrothal with one of the most powerful nobles in all of England, you break our father's heart and you reject the King's advances! By God! What do you want?! Do you want to make a landless knight?! Do you want to ruin our family name?! Our sisters married well, and rose to be baronesses due to your former betrothed's generosity. What do you do? Reject him! I can't even look at you as my sister!"_

"Tears again, Mistress Jane?"

Cromwell's sneer disturbed her thoughts.

"You do not do much," he snarled, his sly eyes digging into her mercilessly. "All you do is weep and complain behind other people's backs. You are no simpering maiden I believed you were. You are a conniving witch! If I have my way, you will burn at the stake."

"It is you who will be burnt at the stake," said Jane, wiping away her tears and staring at him more defiantly than before. "You, who speak blasphemy and commit sin!"

"You could have been Jane Cromwell, Countess of Essex," said Cromwell dangerously, glaring at her in the eye. "You had a future with me, but you blew it all away. You will regret it, Mistress Jane. I will make you suffer, and I will bury you. I will ensure no man wants you as his wife, and no nunnery in England will accept you, and once you had sufficiently suffered, I will have you arrested on the grounds of sorcery and have you burnt at stake."

He refrained himself from slapping her and slouched off.

He noticed Thomas Seymour, and a plan formulated in his mind...

"Master Seymour," said Cromwell, approaching him.

"Lord Essex," acknowledged Thomas suspiciously. "I see you have visited my sister Jane. It is a pity she is more disobedient than we expected."

"Indeed. She embarrassed not only herself, but your family. What about you, Master Seymour? Has your father chosen you a good wife?"

"Unfortunately no. Not many nobles wish to associate themselves with us."

"A pity."

"Are you looking for my brother, Lord Essex? He-"

"No, no, dear lad! I wish to speak to you!" Thomas looked quite surprised. It wasn't often that important lords wanted to speak to him!

"Being a younger son is always tiresome," Cromwell went on, walking slowly ahead with him. "I understand how your brother, Sir Edward, always received the honours and credit, always ends up with the more beautiful and wealthy wife, and he is in line to inherit all your father's lands! The unfairness of it is undeniable! i have a plan for you to enrich yourself."

"Why should I believe you?" said Thomas sceptically. "The King is happy with Jane and sending her gifts, which is always a good sign. Once Jane opens her legs for him, honours will head in my way. You may want to use me like you used Sir Thomas More."

"No, no, no. You are mistaken. Sir Thomas has only himself to blame for his lunacy. I attempted to help him, but alas, it was too late. His ordeal in the Tower was not...pleasant. If you help me, I can bring you riches and power beyond your imagination. I will make you a baron, and perhaps an earl. What do you say to that, Master Seymour?"

"Jane may be able to weld the same amount of power as you pretty shortly."

"Come now, Master Seymour. Open your eyes. Even if Mistress Jane does become the King's mistress, she will never replace Madame de Luil, who holds the real power. Even if your sister manages to oust Madame de Luil of her power, who do you think the titles and estates will go to? I can speak confidently that it wouldn't be to you!"

"What do you want in return? Hypothetically speaking if I do, become your ally. You are the one of the most powerful men in England. What can you possibly want in return?"

"Your sister."

"My sister?!" Shock had consumed Thomas's face. "Your betrothal is broken!"

"No, not Jane. I will speak about her later. Your other sister, the now widowed Elizabeth, Baroness Ughtred. Her husband died last year, and she had just given birth to a daughter, Margery Ughtred, if I am not mistaken. I can offer her a marvellous match."

"You are rejected by a Seymour girl and you wish to marry another?!" Thomas snorted.

"No. I do not wish to marry Lady Ughtred. I am prepared to accept her as my daughter-in-law. The previous choices of brides for my son has unfortunately failed, and now I offer my son as husband for your widowed sister, Elizabeth. I am also ready to accept her two children with the late Baron Ughtred in my household as wards, well, my son's wards. It is a fair arrangement, and good marriages can be made for both of them, and the children my son and your sister may have together."

"Why do you want Elizabeth for your son when you have other ladies to choose from?"

"It will seal our alliance, will it not?"

"Technically, if we are allies, no one else is aware of it. If I befriend you, I am obliged to abandon my family, while using a sister as a pawn. What do you want next? My soul?"

"Master Seymour, I am shocked you think so lowly of me-"

"Bloody hell! You want Elizabeth because she is capable of having sons!" Outrage mixed with disgust was painted on Thomas's face.

Wanting wives for their beauty, wit and wealth is understandable, but having a widowed wife for guaranteed children...?!

"You bastard," said Thomas, turning away. "You bastard! So what? You marry Elizabeth to your son? I admit, she is a lovely and rather attractive woman, and what? You will sleep with her? You are...unwell, Lord Essex. Good day to you."

He hastily ran off before Cromwell could defend himself.

Annoyed, Cromwell stalked away...just to meet Sir Edward Seymour.

"Lord Essex," said Edward smoothly. "I cannot apologise enough for my sister's unruly actions. She is a fool for turning down your proposal. If I had a daughter like that, I would beat her into submission or disinherit her without a second glance."

"Sir Edward," said Cromwell, wondering if his plan with Sir Edward would work. Edward was not as malleable as Thomas, but his ambition was just as great. "I accept your apology, and I am certain you will teach your future daughters what they need to know. You will make an excellent father."

"Thank you, Lord Essex."

"You are very much welcome, Sir Edward."

"Is there any way our alliance can be maintained? My father is furious at Jane's actions and he has no idea what to do with her. He does not wish to be associated with a disobedient spinster daughter. It was my lady mother, who convinced my father to remain on good terms with Jane. She was always a homely woman, my lady mother. A woman who knew where her duties lie."

"Yes, your mother is a good lady, Sir Edward. Actually, I may be interested in ah, reconnecting with your family. Of course the terms would be...different."

"Of course, Lord Essex. What are your terms?"

Cromwell's eyes glittered.

"Your sister Elizabeth," he said, a grin spreading on his face. "She is a widow, yes? A poor widow with two infant children. That will never be easy for her. Will your father accept her and two grandchildren back in Wolf Hall? I have a proposal that will benefit both parties. With your permission and your father's blessing, I offer my own son and heir as a second husband for Lady Ughtred. After my death, I will leave all my estates to them, and that is accompanied by the title 'Earl of Essex'."

"You still want a Seymour for your son?" said Edward uncertainly. "After what Jane did to you, you are still willing to accept a Seymour in your family?"

"Does that surprise you, Sir Edward? Yes, I do."

"But..."

"I believe Elizabeth is more dutiful than Jane, and is capable of bearing sons. Besides, she will be a future countess. A title Jane would have had if she married me. I am also willing to accept Elizabeth's children as my step-grandchildren and Gregory's wards. I also wish for Jane to transfer into Elizabeth's household once Elizabeth and Gregory marry. In exchange, I will convince the King to give you a peerage with suitable estates. What do you say?"

"Why do you want Jane in Elizabeth's household? I cannot allow my sister to disgrace herself any further, especially in-"

"Oh, do not worry, Sir Edward! I will not deflower her! I wish to see her suffer for jilting me. She would've been a powerful woman in my household, but if you permit her transfer, she will pay for every word she said to me."

Edward frowned thoughtfully.

He agreed that Jane should be punished for her actions, but she held the King's interests. With that, comes great favours.

"We can always compromise?" he suggested. "I will give your son Elizabeth's hand in marriage, but Jane will not join her service at the moment. You out of all people should know why I am in no hurry to discuss Jane's...future."

Cromwell nodded.

"Good luck," he said, shaking Edward's hand. "Even though I loathe your sister for jilting me, I wish her luck in replacing that French whore."

* * *

The royal party-the King, Queen, Isabelle, Catherine, George and Mary-arrived at Hatfield House after a long and tiresome journey.

The Hatfield nursery was their first stop upon arrival.

Sleeping peacefully in his gold-gilded crib was England's heir; Prince Arthur. In the crib beside him was Isabelle's second son, Lord Henri Tudor. Sitting quietly in the middle of the room were the other royal children; Princess Elizabeth, Katherine and Guillame. Anne looked away from Guillame and Henri, unable to cope with the sight of Henry VIII's illegitimate offspring.

"Our boys are growing so fast!" exclaimed Isabelle, grabbing the King's arm and pulling him towards his bastards. "Look at our dear Guillame! Henri will soon be a strong boy like you, my king! They are sons a father will be proud of!"

Catherine, George and Mary gave Anne a sympathetic look.

"Ours too, I hope," said Anne lightly, reminding the King of their precious prince. "Arthur will be a fine, strong prince. A good prince."

"Of course," said the King, distractedly. "Arthur will have everything he needs. All my sons will."

"What of Elizabeth? She is quite robust and beautiful!"

"We must wait for her to grow before witnessing her beauty. What attractiveness can you possibly see in a child? If she is robust, then good. She will need to be strong to bear many sons for her future husband when she is older."

"You do not even hold her!"

"Until there is a duke of York in my nursery, Elizabeth and any other daughter you bear me, will not be held by my hands! Nor yours, Madame! Every night, I hear you chatter on and on about Elizabeth! I do not bloody care! She is a girl!" As if offended, Elizabeth wailed loudly.

"Come, Your Majesty," said Mary, steering him out of the nursery and away from the children. "Let us sit in front of the fireplace and talk. We all had a long journey, and you must be exhausted. I will send for a servant to bring warm ale and a nice hot meal. We can all discuss the health of our children tonight at dinner time, alright?"

The King sat down and stared in the crackling fireplace.

"There is something on your mind, Your Majesty," said Mary quietly. "What is it? Your burden will lighten if you share it."

"This woman..." said the King absently. "She is...different. Plain, but beautiful in my eyes. Shy, but bold in my eyes. I met her sometime ago, and her face remains in my mind. She told me her name once, in the most melodious voice I ever heard. She is a jewel, Mary. One of the rarest, and I want it. I sent her gifts, but she sent them back."

"Who is this lovely woman?"

"Mistress Jane Seymour."

Mary froze.

She had heard rumours that Jane was the King's latest attraction, but she never believed it...

"I do not understand..." said the King, returning to stare in the fireplace. "Why would she give all my gifts back? I broke her betrothal with Cromwell, and she returns the favour with refusing to accept not even one of them?"

The steps towards being the King's mistress.

First the gifts.

Then dances in banquets.

Then the invitation to bed...

"She is afraid of insulting the Queen," said Mary, as gently as she could, to the lovesick king. "When my mother was Queen, she accepted your mistresses with ease, but it was still painful for her. I believe Queen Anne is more...volatile and will be easily insulted by your infidelity. I know it is in your right to sleep with other women, but Anne is still unhappy with Isabelle. You claimed you loved my mother. Would you be able to live with my mother hurt? What about for Anne? You love her. You were beside her when she presented you Prince Arthur. Let Jane go. Be a good husband to Anne."

"I will do anything for her," said the King, playing with his wedding ring. "I will do anything to have Jane by my side. She is the perfect queen for me."

"You said that about Queen Anne, Your Majesty."

"It was clearly a mistake. Jane is my love. You should have brought her with you to Hatfield."

"No, Your Majesty. I do not think it will be wise for you and Mistress Jane to begin an um, affair here where the children reside."

"Oh, yes, you are right. That will not be a good sight." He chuckled a little. "She is an odd woman, that Mistress Jane. She rejects all the beautiful gifts I send her, while Isabelle demands rich gifts! What about you, Mary? Are you one for gifts or not?"

Mary considered it.

"It depends," she answered thoughtfully. "I rather simple meaningful gifts than expensive ones with no meaning and connection. There is something you must know about Isabelle."

"Oh?" said the King, amused that his own daughter despises Isabelle. "She is not a spy. Norfolk had already tried telling me that. He even had letters to prove it."

Wordlessly, Mary handed him a scrolled parchment.

Nervousness entered Mary's stomach as the King read it.

If he discovered it was falsified to frame his hated mistress...

"I can't believe this!" seethed the King, anger rising rapidly. "Where did you get this, Mary?! It's a patent from that fox, the King of France! He has congratulated Isabelle for...for enchanting me and giving her access to our military plans! He says that once England is defeated and humiliated, she is welcome to return with her children and will be given the title 'Comtesse de Picardie'! By God! Francis I is going to reward with her an estate in her own right!"

The door opened and Isabelle entered, flashing pieces of jewellery as she walked in.

"I thought you want to see Guillame and Henri a bit more," she said, throwing Mary a glare. "We have not seen them in a while. Mary, do you mind giving us some privacy?"

"You dare speak to my daughter in such a way?!" growled the King, knocking over a goblet of ale as he

stood up furiously. "You whore! You dare address your sovereign this way?! You treasonous bitch!"

Isabelle stepped back, surprised at his behaviour.

"Do you know what this is?" said the King angrily, thrusting the parchment in her face. "Your slimy king of France is planning to make you a countess in your own right in return for your apparent hard work in stealing my official military documents! You bitch! You will be executed in a few days on the grounds of high treason. I will ensure you die a painful death!"

"Non!" said Isabelle, terrified. "I have no idea what that is! I never wrote letters to the King of France! I wouldn't! He didn't help me when your men attacked Picardy! My loyalty is to you, Your Majesty! I do not work for the King of France!"

"Why wouldn't you? You are French, and you may hate England. You will be sent to the Tower, but before that, you will return every piece of jewellery, gold and fabric that you received on English soil, and announce to the people in person, that you are nothing but a whore, hired by the King of France to be a traitor and steal our plans. You will never see my sons again, and they will receive nothing! If you are lucky, I will send them to be raised as sons of the church."

"Non! My sons are innocent! Do not hurt them!"

"Oh? Why not? I loved you!"

"I loved you too! I still love you, my King!"

"Your king?" He was more spiteful than before. "Do not even try! Your loyalty lies all the way across the sea with the King of France! You have no loyalties to England! I will not have my sons tainted with your evil and traitorous blood! No son of mine will be a turncoat!"

"Please! I beg of you! Not for me, but for your sons! You are a good man, a good king. You will not truly leave your sons motherless and fatherless, will you?"

"What I do to my sons is none of your concern."

By then, he grew slightly uneasy.

He loved his children-no matter if they are illegitimate or legitimate-but he wanted Isabelle to suffer for the crimes he committed against him.

He loved Isabelle with all his heart, and she repaid him with treachery.

"You will never see them again," said the King savagely. "Oh, you will die, but you will suffer first. I will send men to Picardy, and they will bring back your French children. You will watch your son Francois, be executed on grounds of committing high treason, and your daughters shaved and placed in nunneries with dubious reputations."

"Non!" said Isabelle, almost in tears. "Please Your Majesty! My children are innocent!"

"You deceived me! You treated my daughter, the Queen and the Duchess of Lancaster with plain disrespect and hinted more than once that your children will be kings of England! High treason! I will also be charging you on the grounds of witchcraft!"

"I am not a witch! I am not a witch!"

"Oh, yes Madame! Indeed you are! If you weren't, why would I have fallen in love with a bloody peasant like you?! You have enchanted me!"

By then, Catherine, Anne and George had all witnessed it.

Isabelle noticed them, and inwardly she cursed herself for her weakness.

She knelt in front of Anne.

"Your Majesty," she said respectfully for the first time since she arrived in England. "Please have mercy upon me. I am not a witch!"

Every eye in the room was upon Anne.

"No," said Anne coldly, feeling pleased she could finally extract revenge on the woman who ruined half her marital life. "You are a witch and a traitor. You enchanted the King with your magic, and you sired children with sorcery running in their veins. Do you honestly believe England will want a prince on the throne with blood of witches? You are a spy for Francis I of France, and you wish to humiliate England in the eyes of all Christendom. Ancient laws of purging countries of witchcraft is executing the witch's entire family. What do you think of that, peasant?" All manners of courtesy had left her.

_Will she actually allow innocent children to die?_ George thought, his eyes switching alternatively between Anne and Mary. _God, why isn't Mary saying anything? Why isn't Catherine? The people have named them 'the Queen of Mercy' and 'the Princess of Kindness'. By God! Will Mary allow Isabelle's execution without at least pleading for mercy? Nor Catherine? What had Isabelle done to her to earn no merciful treatment? What in God's name is going on?!_

"I regret every action I did!" gabbled Isabelle, praying for mercy as she rocked back and forth on her knees. "I did not mean to be so rude! It was King Francis I! He made me! I didn't want to hurt you! He threatened to kill my children if I didn't read the military plans!"

George snorted.

Even saintly Catherine cracked a smile.

"Please!" wailed Isabelle, grabbing Anne's skirts. "It was Francis I that made me commit all those treasonous actions! Have mercy upon me! I will never insult a queen!"

Disgusted Anne stepped away, kicking Isabelle's hands away.

"I need a new gown," she commented to Mary and George, before turning her attention back to the weeping Isabelle. "As for you, _Madame reine de Picardie_, I remember you always held the rather silly idea that you will replace me as queen...well! Henry!" She turned to the King, who was as startled and uncertain as the others. "We must give Madame Isabelle robes and a crown befitting a queen! She must look her part when she is on her way. On her way to the Tower."

* * *

**Yes! Isabelle will be executed! Still collapsing under assignments and I'm also sick. Again :( I'll try and keep updating once every three to four days, but I may update a little later than four days if writer's block decides to visit. For those who are worried Jane will replace Anne as queen, THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. I PROMISE. Please review! :) **


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter XVII

**February, 1535**

Forcibly dressed in a gown of purple with diamonds sewn all over it and an ermine cloak of red and white draped over her shoulders, Isabelle shook with fear.

A crown was placed on her head and she was escorted to her horse by a dozen guards.

She rode to through the streets of London, looking straight ahead as dread and terror crawled all over her. Ordinary people threw rotten vegetables and booed at her.

Ever since her motives were revealed to the public, their hatred towards Anne had turned into pity, and like tidal waves, their anger washed furiously towards Isabelle. She was already a despised woman, but after the news was told, she became the most despised woman in England.

"Whore!"

"Slut!"

"You wanton!"

"Harlot!"

"Witch!"

Each word slapped Isabelle on the cheek as she rode on. A single tear rolled down her face, as she arrived at her own scaffold. Standing in the balcony above were the King, Queen, Catherine, Mary and George, their expressions grim and cold.

None of them were in a merciful mood.

Isabelle squinted against the sun, and noticed a slip of a girl standing near the back of the royal party, her head covered with a dowdy gable hood. That was her replacement; a plain, foolish, dim-witted English lady who knew no tricks to hold onto a man.

Uncontrollably, she laughed.

She saw the King frown slowly.

Isabelle was pushed away and onto her knees. The crowd quietened, all eager to hear the King's mistress's final words.

"Any last words, Madame?" said the executioner gruffly, accepting the coins a guard handed him.

"I was born for greatness," said Isabelle loudly, in clear English, with no tint of French in her voice. "Even when I was a child, I knew living quietly was not my destiny. I was given beauty for a reason. Beauty to love a king. I do not care if you believe I am a spy or not. I know I am not one, and that is enough for me to die happy. It was the King of France, who wanted to me be lover to the King of England, and that I will always believe. I am to die today, but there is one matter I wish to address the King." She turned her head to the royal family. "Your Majesty, I beg you to take care of our sons. Even if they are the sons of a traitoress, they still bear your blood. May you be a blessed king."

Obediently, she placed her head on the chopping block, flaked with dried blood.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the royal physician hurry to the King and whisper in his ear. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes, waiting for the axe.

"Stop!"

Isabelle's eyes flew open as she heard the King utter that word.

The crowd instantly began murmuring unhappily.

"She is a traitor!" called a disgruntled individual. "She must die!"

"Indeed!" bellowed the King, his eyes flashing with anger. "And she will! Madame Isabelle de Luil is a traitor, but as we are good Christens, we cannot execute her! My loyal physician has just informed me that she is with child! We cannot execute a pregnant woman!"

Angry shouts were uttered from the mouths of watchers, who were promised an execution.

"Do not despair, my citizens!" continued the King. "This traitor will not go unpunished for her treasonous crimes! She will be placed under strict surveillance in an abbey and will live the life of a nun until she gives birth! If she survives, the child will be taken from her and she will be executed and sent to the fiery pits of Hell!"

The angry shouts transformed into cheers.

"You made the right choice," said Anne, watching the guards mercilessly drag Isabelle from the execution block and back onto her horse. "A simple beheading is too much for a traitor like her, and you would be seen as a tyrant if you had her and her child killed. What will you do with the child? Hand her (or him) over to the church for a pious life?"

"I do not know," said Henry VIII flatly. "There is no denial that the child is mine. It will be wrong of me to execute a pregnant woman."

"I will ensure Madame Isabelle be treated as any nun should."

"No. Catherine had already requested for Isabelle to join her new abbey, and I believe it is best for Isabelle to be in Catherine's hands."

"What abbey?"

"Catherine had built a religious sanctuary near her castle and named it 'Lancaster Abbey'. It will accept any woman who wished to be married to God. It is a pity Catherine refuses to embrace the Church of England, but as long as she does not promote Lancaster Abbey, I have no problem with allowing her to run the abbey in any manner she deems fit."

Anne nodded, slightly annoyed the chance at having further revenge on Isabelle was ripped away from her and given to the more kind-hearted Catherine.

"What about the child?" Anne said again.

"It depends," said the King, thinking about Jane Seymour. "If it is a boy, he will be raised with the others in Hatfield. If a girl...if no one is willing to take custody of her, she will be given to the nuns and have a devout life to pay the sins of the mother."

Anne nodded again, her hatred for Isabelle not budging a single bit.

"Lord Ormond," said the King, turning to George and Mary. "Mary, I wish for the two of you to go to France and discuss a treaty with the King of France, regarding Picardy. Isabelle had saw our military plans and that Francis I wants to see England humiliated. I rather English troops leave without Picardy than for our soldiers to leave with embarrassment. If the King of France refuses to treat with the two of you, inform him of England's pending alliance with Spain, Austria and Portugal. An alliance between all four of our nations, with the first goal to launch a full-scale invasion in France. That will hopefully scare that cowardly king into a peace alliance!"

"Of course," said George calmly. "Mary and I will leave at once. What if the King of France requests the treaty be sealed by...marriage?"

Anne stood rooted to the spot, her mind bombarded with mixed thoughts.

_Please do not use Elizabeth as a pawn in your games,_ she thought, her maternal instincts rapidly kicking in. _She is still a child..._

"Offer Elizabeth," said the King shortly, confirming her worst fears. "The King of France has two unmarried sons, does he not? The Dauphin and the Duke of Angouleme? They can marry for peace between England and France and Picardy can be part of Elizabeth's dowry."

"Elizabeth is still a child!" exclaimed Anne. "The Duke of Angouleme is older than her by at least ten years! I doubt the King of France will want his youngest son to remain betrothed to an infant while his heir is still unmarried and his second son wedded to a barren wife!"

The King glanced at her. "That is the price for peace."

"Selling your own daughter as if she is a filly in the market?"

"Where is this irrational behaviour coming from, Anne? You married a king, and your children (as princes and princesses) are to be married for peace with another nations! You know that! If I wish to marry Elizabeth to a man that can be her father, or a babe in arms, that is my choice. Besides, you owe me a duke of York. Arthur is too valuable to be married to a French princess."

"Then who is worthy enough to marry our precious son? An English lady?"

"When the time is right, a bride will be found for him."

He turned to Jane, whose eyes remained glued to the ground.

"Will you walk with me, Mistress Jane?" he asked. "It is too stifling in here."

"Of course, Your Majesty," murmured Jane, taking his arm. "Whatever you wish." The two of them left, Anne, Catherine, George and Mary staring after them.

"Our king is full of surprises," said George dryly. "Almost executing one mistress and procuring himself another, their personalities deeply contrasting with each other! Don't worry Anne. Mistress Jane Seymour will only be at his side for...a few weeks at the most and then married off to an insignificant nobleman to placate her virtue and her family. Isabelle de Luil spiced up His Majesty's love life, and now Mistress Seymour will sweeten it. You have given the King a dear son and a beautiful daughter. He will never put you aside for a doormat like Mistress Jane."

Catherine nodded in agreement.

"I am two months pregnant," Anne confessed suddenly. "I didn't want to tell the King in case he will start comparing me to Isabelle again."

"Congratulations Anne!" said Mary, delighted. "Now that the King no longer loves Isabelle, he will treat you as his darling wife again!"

_Hopefully,_ she thought as the others congratulated Anne. _Hopefully the King will love her. He already put aside one wife. Please do not make it two..._

* * *

Francis I watched his mistress, Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly, Duchess of Etampes laugh at a witty joke said by a courtier before noticing George and Mary in front of him.

"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed, immediately attracted to Mary. "What a surprise! Princess Mary Tudor of England! You are still as beautiful as you were as a child! Do you come bearing news that England will surrender Picardy back to us and leave? Who is this fine English gentleman that is charged with guarding you while you are here?"

"I am her husband, Your Majesty," said George stiffly. "George Boleyn, 1st Marquess of Ormond."

"Ah! Brother of Queen Anne! Dear Princess, I did not think you were married!"

"We have a daughter already. I am sure you were told about it, Your Majesty."

"I was speaking to the Princess, _Monsieur la Marquis._ Your Highness, may I ask what you are doing here in France, with _la Marquis_?"

"My husband and I are here to discuss a peace treaty with you, Your Majesty," answered Mary, feeling pity towards George who was so greeted with immense hostility. "His Majesty of England believes Picardy had suffered enough."

The King of France laughed.

The murmurs of the French courtiers ceased and they all turned to him.

"Your king wishes to have a peace treaty about that little town?" Francis I roared with laughter. "My, my! You had a wasted journey, Princess. However, let me...entertain you while you are here." He licked his lips as he stared at her hungrily.

Mary retained a blank facial expression and stared back at him. "I assure you, Your Majesty, this is not a wasted journey. Do you acknowledge that the people of Picardy have suffered?"

"Does it look like I toil the fields?"

"You are their sovereign. Surely you feel sympathy towards them, Your Majesty!"

_"Oui._ Of course I feel sorry for them! What does that have to do with anything? You must be exhausted from your journey. Settle down, and we shall talk at tonight's feast."

"But-"

"Tonight, dear Princess, and you will have my fullest attention." Francis I winked rather suggestively which earnt a silent curse from George and a blush from Mary.

He waved his hand, and a servant stepped forward.

"_Non,_ dear brother." Another woman placed her hand on Francis's arm.

She was tall, beautiful with one of her most enchanting features of violet-blue eyes. Mary assumed it would be Francis I's sister, the intellectual Marguerite de Angouleme, Queen of Navarre, as Francis I's first queen (Claude of France) died many years ago, and his present wife, Queen Eleanore (born Archduchess Eleanora of Austria-older sister of Charles V) had no interest in French matters.

Beside her was a young girl of about seven years of age with the same sharp, pretty eyes.

Marguerite's daughter, guessed Mary. Princess Jeanne of Navarre.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," the woman said pleasantly to Mary. "I am Queen Marguerite of Navarre, His Majesty of France's sister. This is my daughter, Princess Jeanne of Navarre. I have been wishing to speak to you for a while. Brother, I will take Princess Mary to her chambers." She turned to George, a smile remaining on her face. "You must be Queen Anne's brother, le Marquis de Ormond. Anne has told me so much about you. By letter of course. I am glad to see you in person. You are lucky to marry Princess Mary. A very lucky man. Princes have fought for her and you ousted them all."

"Undiplomatically," snorted Francis I.

"Come," said Marguerite, ignoring him. "I will show you where you will be staying throughout your stay here. Jeanne, do you wish to accompany us?"

Her tight-lipped daughter shook her head.

Francis I laughed again.

"Tell me," said Marguerite, escorting George and Mary to their guest chambers. "What does your king want you to tell my brother?"

"He wants a peace treaty," explained George, relieved to be relatively liked by Marguerite. "Not only to end the unnecessary warfare in Picardy, but for France and England to embrace their friendship. The King is prepared to negotiate suitable terms and conditions for both kingdoms, and he is willing for his daughter, Princess Elizabeth Tudor, to marry a French prince to seal the treaty. He also says he is willing to surrender Picardy as part of Princess Elizabeth's dowry."

"My brother will not agree to the dowry. He believes Picardy is French land."

"Yes. The King also said that if His Majesty of France refuses to agree with the peace treaty with England, he should know that England is also negotiating with Spain and Portugal for a triple alliance. The numbers may change if Austria joins."

"Is that a threat, _Marquis_?" Marguerite laughed lightly. "His Majesty of England is not one for diplomatic peace. Well, France has a friend in Navarre, and there is already peace-a little uneasy, but it still peace-between Spain and France with my brother's marriage to Archduchess Eleanora of Austria. You must do better, _Monsieur,_ if you wish to have a treaty with France. Portugal is harmless and the puppy of Spain. It will do nothing without Spanish advice. You must know that your King of England is a fool. Unless he wishes to successfully launch a full-scale invasion, His Majesty of France will not be interested in signing any peace treaty with England. My brother already acknowledges Anne Boleyn's marriage to the King, even though Catherine of Aragon signed to a divorce. I know His Imperial Majesty still believes his aunt to be queen of England and Anne Boleyn as nothing more than a whore."

"Please do not insult the Queen of England, Your Majesty."

"What will your king do? Declare war?" She laughed charmingly again. "You are only marquess due to your marriage to Princess Mary."

"I heard that you are a diplomatic woman, Your Majesty. What do you suggest is suitable to please France for peace?"

"Nothing England can offer will appease France."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," said Mary quickly. "I may have misunderstood you, but you rather see your a piece of your country of birth littered in war rather than have peace? Even though you are a queen now, you were raised in France. I always heard that you are a kind, generous woman. A woman who loves her people, no matter how rich or poor they are."

"You are right," affirmed Marguerite, with a regretful sigh. "My husband does not love his people as I did, and it may have reflected badly on me. I apologise, _Monsieur,_ for my earlier words. Your wife, _Madame la princesse,_ speaks truth. The people must be thought of first. Even if my brother loves the people of Picardy, he will not have one of his sons married to His Majesty of England's infant daughter for temporary peace. I am sorry."

"He has three sons. What is His Majesty of France afraid of? A lack of heirs?"

"A wasted marriage."

Mary was silent.

She remembered when the King of England was told that Francis I married his second son, the Duke of Orleans, to Dona Catarina de Medici, Countess of Auvergne in her own right. It was only through her relations to the pope back then (Clement VII) paternally and maternally related to the noble French de la Tour d'Auvergnes with the promise of Milan that attracted the sly king to marry his precious second son off to a girl descended from prosperous Italian bankers. Henry VIII laughed at Francis I's speedy offer of marriage, and it was later seen that it was humorous-at Francis I's expense.

When Pope Clement VII died last year, Pope Paul III succeeded him, and he had no intention to keep the

promises his predecessor made, and wished to break ties with France and made the decision not to pay the enormous dowry Clement VII owed Francis I on Catarina's behalf. When Henry VIII was informed, his laughter was heard throughout Greenwich Palace.

"Princess Elizabeth is royal," said George helpfully.

Before he married Mary, he had a blooming diplomatic career and there was talk he would be an English ambassador in France. He was given an excellent education during his youth, but his diplomatic knowledge did not match those of politically-wily royals; Marguerite for one.

"That is not what I mean, _Monsieur,_" she said, bemused. "I am aware that your niece is of royal blood, but that is only part of the reasons my brother will not consider a match between her and his son, I can assure you of that."

"How can you possibly know?!" demanded George, his irritation growing. Why is it that there is always something in Anne's path of happiness?! Even her royal daughter cannot be seen well! "It's not as if you can read his mind!" Mary glared at him.

"Your Majesty," he added hastily.

"I do not mean to insult your sister," said Marguerite, her amused smile replaced with one of slight annoyance. "Indeed, she is one of my greatest friends, but when it comes to marrying off children for the good of the kingdom...more are considered than actual friendship, if you know what I mean. What about your own child, _Monsieur?_ Anne tells me that she is raised alongside Princess Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales. Will His Majesty of England marry her off for his own purposes, or will you arrange a good match for your daughter?"

George glanced at Mary, unsure.

The idea of his Katherine married had not yet occurred to him properly...

"I suppose both of us and the King will decide together," said Mary smoothly. "Of course every child is important, but I do not think the King acknowledges my daughter with the love a grandfather should have to his grandchild yet."

"I will talk to my brother," said Marguerite promptly, opening the doors. "I do not want the people of Picardy to suffer much longer. I cannot promise you a marriage between Princess Elizabeth and a fils de France. I am sorry. Here are your chambers. _Monsieur le Marquis,_ your chambers are next door. My brother jestingly thinks you two are not married. However, I have arranged that the two of you will be given joint chambers, more ah...suitable for the daughter and son-in-law of the King of England. It will be ready for you tomorrow."

"Thank you," said Mary, smiling at her. "If you have not arranged it yet, I'm sure George and I can cope with separation for a few days."

Marguerite laughed and turned to George.

"Your chambers are suited for a _marquis,_" she said, almost sheepishly. "My apologies. My brother arranged all this without my knowledge."

"I can cope," George assured her. "I was a knight's son before becoming a marquess."

Marguerite nodded.

"I shall see you both at tonight's feast," she said, nodding politely.

"What is the feast for?" said Mary curiously. "Who is the King honouring?"

"No one," said Marguerite, surprised. "Well, now it can be seen as a feast honouring the two of you, but my brother enjoys having feasts almost every day of the week! I have gotten used to it. I suppose you will see Queen Eleanore tonight, but she normally does not attend every feast and prefers to have her meals in her chambers in seclusion..."

"We understand," said George, with a nod. "I suppose you will be the shining light of the feast?"

Marguerite smiled at him enchantingly. "I always am, _Monsieur._"

With an alluring wink, she gracefully floated off, leaving George and Mary alone.

"I do not understand their motives!" exclaimed George, once they entered Mary's chambers. "When I was sent on a diplomatic mission a year before I married you, the French were incredibly polite and pleasant! Now?! I cannot believe Francis I thought I was not married to you! Either he does it deliberately to provoke me, or he is -"

"Don't say it," warned Mary, pulling him away from the door. "We are in France now, not England. I do

not want to force myself to sleep with the King of France in order to free you from a French prison."

"Oh? Will you sleep with the King?"

"George!" She pressed her hand against her heart dramatically. "I will never degrade myself! Above all, I will never sleep with another man!"

"Not even to free me from captivity if I ever offend the King of France?"

"If I must, I will, but I will always be thinking of you."

"I am a fortunate man to marry you." He led Mary to the neatly made bed, his eyes ravenous with desire. In turn, Mary smiled seductively and leant closer to him.

"Francis I will know you as my husband, " she whispered into his ear, her voice flowing enticingly. "All of France will know I am your wife, and you are my husband. No one will doubt it for another second of our stay here. Especially when I _scream your name..._"

* * *

**I know you wanted Isabelle executed. Sorry :( Writer's block had appeared and I don't know where to go! I did make a brief plan for the next few chapters though: Finish the French matters - execute Isabelle once and for all (unless she dies in childbirth) - more English plots. Thomas More will make an appearance in a chapter or two. Hopefully. Again, apologies Isabelle wasn't executed. Please read and review! :) **


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